Song of a Peacebringer
by Mercury Gray
Summary: Trying to escape a life with no prospects, a young woman sets sail for the Holy Land not knowing what she will find there. Armed with her brother Gregory's advice and a modicum of courage, Audemande of Vinceaux tries to make the most of Jerusalem.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One-In the Beginning_

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_From Brother Gregory, of the Order of Saint Benedict in the Abbey of Vinceaux, France, to Audemande, best beloved sister and lady attendant to Lady Sybilla, Countess of Jaffa and Ascalon, in the city of our Lord, Jerusalem. Written this second day of February in the year of our lord 1182. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I give you greetings, sister._

_As I am writing this letter I can see Brother Jerome in the orchard outside the scriptorium window, where the trees are just flowering, and I know that wherever you are, you will probably be eating better fruit than the poor, wormy, winter specimens that will probably end up in our dinner tonight. But you are at the court in Jerusalem, God willing, and my abbot seems to think that fruit that has come up from the ground where Christ's sainted blood was spilled will taste better. I pray every night at evening office for your journey to be safe and without incident, and for the pilgrim who will carry this letter across the sea to you. Hopefully Hugo is well, and the dour old soldier will find Jerusalem to his liking after he has visited the sites of pilgrimage that Father Reynard set down for him. Your studies must continue without me; Jerusalem is one of the world's great centers for Christian learning, and I would hate for my letters to be the only thing you read to improve your command of Latin._

_Brother Jerome and Brother Walter send their regards and prayers for you; Brother Jerome wishes he could send you some of the Abbey apples, but I think several thousand miles is a long way for one sad fruit to travel. Brother Walter misses your help in the herb garden, and asks me several times a day when you are coming home. I hate to have to tell him it shall not be for a very long time._

_I must finish this quickly, as Brother Rene is coming around and he will certainly have me punished for putting personal affairs above the work of copying Livy's _Ab Urbe Condit_. Abbot John has already told me I may write to you, since you are on the pilgrim road and in need of guidance, but he does not seem to have told Brother Rene about this. _

_He is gone now, and I may continue. This copy of Livy we have is deplorable, so bad you can barely read it, and some of the pages are beginning to mold. I think we should store them in our blessed southern Poitevin sun, but Brother Rene says that bleaches the pages. I hate to see great works this way._

_Sister, I wish you joy in your new life. I know the sun is shining where you are in Jerusalem, probably hotter than the sun here, but I know that it is the same sun, and the same God that watches over both of us._

_God's peace be with you,_

_Your brother, Gregory._

Audemande folded the letter back up and glanced at the address on the envelope- Audemande, daughter of Armand of Vinceaux in the province of Poitou under the guidance of Hugo of Vinceaux, man-at-arms, on the Pilgrim Road to Jerusalem.

Such a long address for such a small person, Audemande thought to herself. Well, she was small now, after walking through much of southern France to reach Narbonne, then heaving up any of the food that might have gained the weight back from southern France to Corsica, and then on to Messina, and then again from Messina to Jaffa.

So much water. She didn't think she wanted to see another body of water in her life. She was going out into the desert to Jerusalem, and that was fine with her. And now she was in Jaffa, with Hugo and their gaggle of pilgrim companions, on the road to the Kingdom of Heaven. At least now she wasn't walking any more – Hugo had given seven of their silver deniers to a trader in Jaffa for a rather pretty palfrey she'd named Joyeuse for the happy way the horse seemed to step.

"Seems silly, naming a horse after a sword," Hugo said dourly, leading the horse to their pilgrim hostel for the night.

"You remembered the name of Charlemange's sword, Hugo!" Audemande said, suprised. "I didn't think you listened to those stories!"

"You only told them a hundred times on the way from Poitou to Narbonne. Silliest muck I ever heard. Have you ever tried chopping through a man's helmet and his head?" Hugo asked seriously. One of her father's men-at-arms and a seasoned warrior who'd seen enough fighting to probably write his own _chanson_, Hugo was far more earthy than Audemande and far less poetic.

"Well, no," Audemande reasoned. "But if you're a hero like Roland, I suppose it can't be that hard."

"Roland was a man, same as any other- your father, Lord Hugh, me. Can't chop a man's helmet and his skull at the same stroke. Now come on, get off and let's give Abbot John's letter to the Prior, or whoever runs this place."

The hostels along the pilgrim road were mainly monasteries and rest houses run by god-fearing monks and nuns trying to do the will of God by helping those trying to do their penance by returning to the city where God's son suffered. Before they had left Poitou, Abbot John, the man in charge of Gregory's abbey, had written them a letter, to be given to the various abbots and priors along the road to show that they were traveling to Jerusalem not only as pilgrims, but to join the court of the King of Jerusalem, and should be helped if at all possible. The letter also mentioned (Audemande knew this because she had taken it out and read it after the wax had broken) that the lady's virtue should be protected from any unsavory characters on the pilgrim road 'for I know that many men who seek salvation are lost and apt to stray.'

The prior chortled when he read their letter. "Do you know how many of these I read a day, pilgrim? Hundreds, from hundreds of abbeys across Europe. I know of some that sell them to pilgrims, though its usury to do so. This one's no different."

Five months of traveling hadn't been without effect on Hugo, who had learned a thing or two about bartering as he tried to make their deniers last longer. "Her brother's a monk in this abbey, sir, and her father's a knight. Armand of Vinceaux. We're traveling to Jerusalem to join the court of King Baldwin, at 

the request of Sir Armand's lord, Hugh the Ninth of Lusignan. His uncle Guy is married to the king's sister, and this girl is to serve her!"

"We have no room," the prior said finally.

"We can pay," Audemande said sweetly, and the prior turned to look at her.

"How much?" he asked quickly.

"Master Prior, you are a Benedictine, and so, it happens, is my brother. In your Rule, which my brother has taught me well, Benedict quotes our Lord when he says that "All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for he himself will say 'I was a stranger, and you welcomed me' and also says on the subject of guests 'that even the most poor deserve respect.' Would you turn us away if our price were not high enough, or take our money to leave us penniless on the road to Jerusalem?"

The prior sagged, outmanned with his own monastic rule. But Audemande had one more thorn left in her arsenal. "And does not Benedict also say that when electing priors, one should be aware that in the past some priors 'usurped tyrannical power and fostered contention and discord' and one should be sure to report him to the Abbot if he does usurp his position? So, Master Prior, we ask you again -- have you any room for us at your inn?" Audemande smiled sweetly again and the prior melted in defeat.

"I can give you beds in our dormitories- there's a group of pilgrims leaving today. But you'll have to share them, and get your own food; our kitchens cannot follow the Rule when there is no money in our tithe boxes."

"That is fine, master prior," Audemande said levelly, dropping a little curtsey. "I will remember your monks in my prayers tonight, and my brother's abbey will remember yours in their prayer."

"Didn't know your brother's book would be that helpful, little miss," Hugo said, impressed as they were lead off by a noviate to the pilgrim's dormitories. Audemande had insisted on buying a very worn and dogeared copy of The Rule of Benedict, with the intent to read it when they camped at night. Hugo hadn't wanted to part with another one of their precious deniers, but Audemande had told him it would pay for itself, and so it had.

"Bread and cheese for supper?" Audemande asked, watching Hugo count the last of the deniers in his large, tanned palm.

"I don't think they have cheese in Jaffa, young miss. Fellow told me once that Saracens don't eat it. If God didn't want us to eat cheese, why did he give us cows and goats, that's what I want to know," Hugo said stodgily.

"Just bread, then. And fruit, if you can find it. Please, Hugo?" Audemande asked with her winning smile.

Hugo gave in with a quirk of his eyebrow. "If I can find it, no promises," he said, trudging off into the marketplace. Audemande watched him leave and spread out her cloak on half the bed, wondering to herself if there would be a bath for her in Jerusalem before she met the Lady Sybilla. After five months 

of sleeping in her dark pilgrim's cloak and in flea-infested straw, she had bites everywhere and lice in her hair; not befitting for a knight's daughter going into the service of a noble lady like Sybilla in the grandest city in the world.

Digging in her bag, she pulled out her writing board, a planed piece of wood that Hugo had made for her, and her ink stone and brush. Adding a dribble of water from her waterskin and daintily picking a stray hair from the brush, she began her letter to Gregory. Better to write him now while they were still in a place where it might get back to France. And two more copies, after this, with two different pilgrim ships to Messina.

_From Audemande, daughter of Armand of Vinceaux, in the port of Jaffa in the Holy Land, to Brother Gregory, of the Order of Saint Benedict at the Abbey of Vinceaux, France. Written this fifteenth day of August in the year of our lord 1182. In the name of the father, and the son, and the holy ghost, I give you greetings, best beloved brother._

_I am glad to hear that you are well. Hopefully we can arrange some safe transport of our letters, though a merchant or a good and god-fearing guide; I do not wish to be without your council while I am here, which Abbot John has been so gracious to permit…_

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This story's been something of a flea in my ear for a little while now, and now that a good portion of it's written, I'm sending my baby out among the lions for critique and review. I am not promising that it will be up to my usual standards of historical accuracy and plot development. I cannot promise it will not be without its flaws. Hopefully, however, it will turn into a good story.

I am departing from my normal procedure on stories of a multiple chapter nature and I am posting it before the story is finished. I know how it ends. I simply have yet to write it down. But there are gaps in the middle of the story that refuse to be filled in, and I cannot promise by the time we get there that they will even attempt to let themselves be bridged. As it is, I hope you will all enjoy it.

Now please, honestly and frankly, what do you think of it so far?

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two- The Reception of Guests

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"So why are you here, Audemande of…Vinceaux?" Count Raymond's clerk asked, clearly trying to weed out those unworthy of his lord's precious time.

"I was sent by Lord Hugh of Lusignan to serve the lady wife of his Uncle, Lord Guy. I was told when I arrived in Jerusalem I should seek out the Count of Tripoli and Lord of Tiberias, Raymond, and present myself to him." Audemande said straightforwardly.

"Where are your escorts, your knights attending? Surely Lord Hugh would not be so stupid as to send a young lady alone across the entire world unaccompanied?"

Audemande looked at the clerk with a clear and strong glance, as if challenging him to contradict her story. "I left with three knights, sir, and my father's man at arms who is making pilgrimage. One I lost of fever in Narbonne, one on the sea-passage to Messina, and one deserted us in that city, presumably because he also died, or did not wish to continue. There is just my father's man left, sir. We traveled with the pilgrim groups to stay in safety; I have no clothes but for the ones I am wearing, and only a fraction of the dowry that was promised me for coming here; the rest lies on the bottom of Mediterranean."

"And why should I let Lord Tiberias waste his time with you?" the clerk droned, bored.

"Because, you ill-mannered mongrel, my father's fathers fought with Charlemange and became knights, and because I have a letter from the Lord Hugh himself attesting to my purpose here!" Audemande burst out, staring down the mild-faced clerk, who didn't seem to believe that a seventeen year old girl had just verbally run him through. Audemande pulled out the oilskinned packet from the bottom of her traveling pouch and shoved the seal under his nose. "There are my papers, from Lord Hugh to Lord Tiberias, or whoever will see to my lodging, and I will not open them for some clerk who doesn't know his betters!"

The clerk nodded quickly and went into the next room. There was a dry, barking laugh through the slightly open door, and the clerk scurried back. "He'll see you now," He said, opening the door. Audemande curtseyed and walked inside, Hugo following behind her.

"Was that tongue of yours the reason they sent you away to the end of the earth here in Jerusalem?" Count Raymond of Tripoli, Prince of Galilee and Tiberias and former regent to the throne of Jerusalem, asked sharply, his scarred face twisted into something of a wry smile. "I'm sure there's some in Egypt who didn't hear you."

"No, my lord, my tongue had nothing to do with it," Audemande said evenly, her voice low now, as she had remembered a lady's ought to be. Tiberias chuckled and held out a gloved hand, taking the oilskin packet and breaking the seal to take out the letter inside.

"At least yours may be a truthtelling tongue, Audemande of Vinceaux," Tiberias said, scanning the letter. "If, of course, that is your real name. There are many tongues in this city which lie profusely. Lord Hugh has included questions here to verify that you did not steal this packet from the real Audemande. Your father's name and rank?"

"Sir Armand of Vinceaux, knight of Lord Hugh of Lusignan in the province of Poitou," Audemande said, looking at the letter rather than look at Lord Tiberias' eyes, which were so dark and full of secrets she was afraid he might convince her to say anything.

"And your siblings?"

"I have an older brother Reginald, an older brother Gregory, and a younger brother Anselm."

Tiberias laughed. "You forget your sister, then?"

Audemande swallowed and continued to stare at the letter. "I have no sister, sir, only brothers. My mother is Dame Agatha of Tyrault in the province of Gascony. I was born in the year 1166. My favorite color is blue, and my favorite place to hide from my nursemaids was in the chapel under the statue of the virgin Mary. My eldest brother is a knight, my elder brother a monk, and my youngest--"

"That's enough of proofs," Tiberias said. "You'd spill out your lifeblood in front of me if it were to prove you were yourself. Lord Hugh says that you are unmarried, and that he is sending you with three knights and a dowry of fifty gold bezants, which, I note, are both not here."

Audemande sighed and glanced down at the floor before turning back to Tiberias, who had put the letter down. "As I told your clerk, sir, my dowry was washed overboard on the way from Narbonne to Corsica, and the three knights were evidently not as stout as Lord Hugh promised my father they were, as all three either perished or deserted me. I am come to Jerusalem alone save for my man at arms, and have nothing to offer the Lady Sybilla except my service, for which I am profoundly sorry."

"The dowry wasn't for us taking you, girl, it was for your marriage, should you find a match, which is not hard in this city," Tiberias explained. "And I'm sure she'll take your service when she hears my report of you. The Lady Sybilla is like to you in temper, and will like to have another woman about who takes no gall from lesser men than she. Your mother, I assume, tutored you in all those womanly frills they are content to teach you these days?" He asked unconcernedly.

"My mother did not have much time for my education while she was caring for my brother Anselm, but I am sufficient in many suitable occupations for a woman of my standing."

"Suitable occupations," Tiberias said to himself. "How diplomatic of you." He looked back up at Audemande and set the letter aside. "I'm sure she'll find a good enough use for you, in time. The steward will take you to the lady's chamber," He said, and the man came over and bowed to her.

"And my man-at-arms?" Audemande asked, glancing at Hugo in the next room.

"We'll find a place for him, or payment so he can be on his way, if that is what he desires," Tiberias said. Audemande nodded and followed the steward, pausing in the hall to clasp Hugo's hand.

"I do not know that I have thanked you, Hugo, for your service to me. You have been a great friend and a better companion than anyone else I could have chosen. The rest of our traveling money is yours to keep," she added with a whisper.

"It's too much," Hugo said, handing her back the purse; she'd sewn their deniers into the hems of their pilgrim cloaks and then taken them out again when they reached the Abbey at Jaffa; no longer needing the cloak for protection, Audemande was still wearing hers out of habit. "I'll winter here, with you, and go home in the spring when the passages are better. Bring home any letters you might have for Gregory," he added, nodding. "Now go on, young mistress, doesn't do to have royals waiting on you," he urged, sending her off down the hall after the steward.

Never in all her days, not even in Poitiers or Narbonne, had Audemande seen such a large house. She had thought Lord Hugh's house was impressive, but this was a palace, with corridor upon corridor, and stairs to upper floors, and courtyards filled with fountains and flowers. The floors were tiled in the Saracen style, and the walls were hung with bright cloth and drapery.

Audemande surmised that the lady Sybilla, in her status as the King's sister, had a suite of rooms all to herself; a solar, for receiving and entertaining, a room of her own, and another, aside of that, for her ladies. "Surely I am not to meet the great lady like this?" Audemande asked, looking at her travelstained clothes and pilgrim's cloak, which was nearly moving under its own speed with the fleas in it.

Her guide said nothing and merely opened the door. Whatever assumptions Audemande had had about Jerusalem fluttered to the floor as her mouth fell open a little. Here was a room full of gold and red light, and a half a dozen women lounging on cushions, laughing. Audemande had expected rather severe looking women (in her imagination they had been nuns) and all of them at prayer. It reminded her of Eleanor's Court of Love, which her mother had told her of once. "Full of laughter and color, Aude, and much joy," she had said. This was certainly the place.

And in the midst of these ladies was a woman whose own light shown a little brighter than the rest; her kohl-lined eyes challenged the visitor majestically, and Audemande knew that this had to be Sybilla. It was hard to believe that this woman was only a few years older than her, and already a princess. "Well, what little bird has become trapped in here today?" she asked. "Are you lost, little one?"

"Lord Tiberias has sent me here," Audemande said, swallowing and trying to find her voice; she'd lost it somewhere in the awe of it all. "I am come from your husband's people in Poitou to be your lady-in-waiting."

"My husband's people," Sybilla repeated warily, rising from her chair. "Yes, I hear the Poitevin in your voice. Surely they did not catch you and cage you first?"

"I …chose to come, my lady," Audemande said quietly, gazing at Sybilla's hands, which were covered in a pattern of brown ink and very, ladylike indeed. Her own hands, she knew, had dirt under the fingernails and a few blisters from clinging to a pilgrim's staff.

"Lying suits many tongues, my girl, but not yours. It seems to me it was your only choice to take the road to Jerusalem. Why are you here?"

Audemande looked at the floor, ashamed of why she was here, and then told the Princess. "I did not have much chance to be married at home, and Lord Hugh offered a dowry and an escort to any unmarried woman brave enough to take it and go to the Holy Land. My father offered me; his estate is small and I have three brothers."

Sybilla looked at her other ladies and laughed, but it was not derisive, merely…amused. "And do you have a name, little Poitevin bird?"

"Audemande, my lady. Audemande of Vinceaux." What little courage she'd had with the clerk had left her now; all these great men and women, and only little her, in her pilgrim garb. The brown cloak was making her feel a lot more humble than she meant to.

"Audemande! My word, what a ponderous name! Is there something else you are called?" Sybilla asked with a smile.

Audemande looked at her hem again and thought. "My mother called me Aude, sometimes."

Sybilla nodded. "Aude of Vinceaux. Much easier to say. I've heard my husband speak of it, this Vinceaux. A small town, a little ways from the coast?"

"Not a little ways, my lady, unless you are on a horse. When we went to the seashore, we walked," Audemande explained. Sybilla laughed and looked at her, a strange smile on her face.

"I have not walked anywhere since I returned from my aunt's convent in Bethany, and I doubt that my husband has walked anywhere he could not ride. Princesses and Queens do not walk. I see that you'll be good for me in that way, reminding me to be humble. Well, Aude, my little windblown bird, come and sit here, next to me, and tell me something of yourself."

"Please, my lady, I am not…" Audemande didn't really want to say it, but the room was too pretty for her at the moment. "I have been traveling for five months, my lady, and I have not bathed since I left Vinceaux. In that time I've slept in dirt, straw, and hostels across southern France, Corsica, Sicily, and Palestine." Her voice was getting louder and more commanding. Aude took a breath and went on, moderating herself. "What I mean to say, Lady Sybilla, is that I am not fit for polite company, and should probably bathe before I attend you. There are the fleas," she added. Several of the ladies made faces, but Sybilla nodded, smiling wryly.

"A very honest tongue, I see. You are lucky you are in Jerusalem, then. This is a desert land, and we do not bathe here as often as I would perhaps like to. But Jerusalem has plenty of wells, and it has been a 

good year for water. Jariya will take you. Petronilla, find a clean dress for the girl and go with them- I do not want her getting lost on her way back." Sybilla ordered around her ladies with a careless grace, with a voice well used to being the one giving the commands.

One of the ladies rose from her cushion and collected herself, following Audemande and the servant Jariya far into the palace to where the palace bath was kept.

"The Romans built parts of this palace," Petronilla was saying as they went down into the darker, deeper part of the castle. "They loved to bathe. If you were in Kerak, or Ramaleh, where water is scarce, you would bathe in a bucket."

"I'll be certain to remember that, and take this opportunity to bathe well, then," Aude said with a scarce smile.

"The water will be cold, mistress," the servant Jariya said quietly, pulling back the gauzy curtain that surrounded the pool and lighting the oil lamps at the water's edge.

"Warm or cold, a bath's a bath," Aude said, quickly stripping off the pilgrim cloak and casting it aside. Beneath it, her dress, which had started its journey gray, was beginning to absorb some of the brown dye from the cloak, and was acquiring a strange rusty color. Aude turned around to see the Lady Petronilla discreetly facing the wall so that she could strip off her dress, stockings and shoes and get into the water.

Aude drew her breath in sharply as her head submerged into the cool water, coming up with chattering teeth. She took a deep breath and went back under again, scrubbing at her hair and watching some of the dirt float away. When she came up again, Jariya handed her a piece of cloth, which she scrubbed her arms and torso vigorously with, so glad to have five months of dirt, sweat, and dust off her skin and hair.

"So you are from Lord Guy's country, in France," Petronilla said by way of starting a conversation, still looking at the wall. "Is it pretty there?"

"I loved it there," Aude said between chatters, laying aside the rag and scraping at the back of her head with clawed fingers, trying to dislodge at least some of the lice.

"They say it's much different from Jerusalem, with grasses everywhere, and trees that go bald when the weather turns cold," the lady continued. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it's different," Aude managed. "But it's pretty here, too."

Petronilla scoffed. "Out in the desert it's pretty, but the city is no place for beauty, unless it's the beauty of men." She held up the dress on her arm, inspecting it. "It's blue – I hope you don't mind."

"My favorite color is blue," Aude said, taking the towel from Jariya and climbing out of the bath to dry herself. After getting into the dress, which was a little long and would need some taking in, Aude looked at her stockings and sighed; there were great holes in the bottom that no amount of darning would bring back to life.

The servant Jariya took her old clothes without so much as a blinked eye, but Aude could see that Petronilla sniffed at the smell of the unwashed wool and turned up her nose at the provincial cut of her dress, which was very plain. If only she'd seen some of the dresses in her dowry trunk! The Poitevins were known for their love of color – had not Eleanor, who was from the south herself, loved to wear orange when she was Queen of France? Aude knew that she would like being in Jerusalem, if Sybilla's quarters and her own clothes were anything to judge by. She could wear what colors she liked here.

But there was still that troubling question of money; there weren't nearly enough silver deniers in the little pouch of Hugo's for a new wardrobe. She'd be lucky if she could buy a new veil with this, judging by the prices some of the merchants had been asking in the market she'd passed through on her way to the palace. _Can you see the Princess going out into the market to do her shopping?_ A voice inside her head chided. _Sybilla probably has a merchant come directly to the palace for her to peruse dress wares._

Clean and hopefully free of fleas, for right now, at least, Aude shivered as Petronilla produced a rosewood comb and began picking the knots out of her long, wet hair. Audemande had demanded that her mother cut it before she left Vinceaux (it had been down past her backside and in no way good for traveling) but it was still long; five months on the road had let it grow another handspan, at least.

"Your hair is very pretty," Petronilla said, gently pulling the comb through to finish it out and then pulling the hair into two halves to braid it.

"It's lightened since I left France," Aude said. "It used to be a little darker."

"The color suits you. Some ladies here henna their hair, to make it redder. It looks very…foreign on some of them," she added carefully. Aude winced as the older lady began braiding her hair, but the result, once the ends had been bound up, was better than anything she'd been able to do herself on the road. Petronilla fixed a veil on, pushing a thin band onto Aude's forehead to keep the veil in place, and handed the younger girl a small hand-mirror of polished brass. The effect was a welcome sight to Aude, who hadn't seen herself in five months except in very still washbowls. Washed and properly dressed, she picked up her bag and followed Petronilla back to Sybilla's rooms on the far side of the palace.

Setting the bag on the floor beside her, Aude rearranged her skirts, sitting down on one of the pillows, farthest from Sybilla. The other ladies were working on embroideries and looked as though they did not want to be disturbed, but Sybilla had in her hands a small book, though it did not look to be a devotional or prayer book as some women read_. So the Lady Sybilla is a woman of learning_, Aude thought to herself. _Gregory will be glad_.

"What is that on the floor?" one of the ladies said, glancing at Aude, who didn't quite know what to do with herself.

"God's thumbs, my bag!" Audemande said quickly, retrieving the leather satchel and quickly withdrawing the important things from it; her Rule of Benedict, her brush, and finally her inkstone, which must have gotten wet while they were in the bath. It was leaking a trail of runny black ink all over the floor now, and Aude looked around for a rag to mop it up with. A servant approached, silently 

cleaning up, evading Aude's gaze. _There are so many servants here_, Aude thought to herself. _At home I would have cleaned it up myself._

"Can you read?" Sybilla asked with great interest, looking at the slim little volume Aude had drawn from her bag in her haste to retrieve the wet inkstone.

"My brother was teaching me Latin," Aude said, setting the inkstone on the floor and thankfully taking the napkin the servant offered her to clean her hands.

"So you _can_ read!" Sybilla said happily. "Oh, that is good news indeed, for I love to hear stories, and none of the other women in this room," she confided with a loud whisper, leaning in with a smiling and pointing to the other ladies, "can understand a word when it is written. Here, you shall read to us! Are you familiar with Ovid?"

Aude shook her head. "The monastery library only had theological texts, and some histories," she said. "I do not recognize the name."

"He was a great Roman poet, and the author of the_ Metamorphoses_, " Sybilla said, going over to a chest and opening it, pulling out a beige-colored book, made of good quality parchment, not like the crumbling tomes they had in the monastic library; this book had lived in the desert, away from rot. "Now sit here, where I can hear you, and read to us." She handed Aude the book.

Aude sat down near the great lady and gingerly opened the book, mindful of the ink that had just been on her fingers, feeling the paper between her fingers as she flipped the pages, thick and reassuring, like a shield. But the first page of the latin was beyond her, verbs and words she didn't know and had no hope of guessing.

Bauchis and Philemon, thought Aude to herself, reading the title. That's not too hard.

"Bauchis and Philemon," she read aloud. Now for the next line.

_Obstipuēre omnēs nec tālia dicta probārunt_, "All of the…judging people…did not…approve of…what was…dictated."

_ante omnesque Lelex animo maturus et aevo_ " before in front of all Lelex, a…life mature and….aged..."

_sic ait: "inmensa est finemque potentia caeli_ "said…to them. "Immense is the… limited? Limitless! Immense is the limitless power of the sky, and…"

The giggles coming from the other ladies were getting too loud for Audemande, who guiltily shut the book and handed it back to Sybilla, who was frowning.

"Well, you are only a student of the tongue. Still, you have a nice voice. Keep the Ovid, and learn from it. What book have you there?" she pointed to the Rule of Benedict, which looked even more travelsore next to the Metamorphoses volume with its white cover and straight edged pages.

"Nothing my Lady would enjoy listening to," Aude said. "It is the Rule of Benedict, the monastic code my brother follows. I bought it in Narbonne."

"Yes, I think a monastic code is a little tame, for now," Sybilla judged. "Very well."

"I do know stories, my lady! Chansons from the Lady Eleanor's court," Aude said, trying to redeem herself in the lady's eyes. Sybilla turned to look at her with those daring eyes of hers again.

"Yes?"

Aude tried to remember some of them. She'd told them over and over on the pilgrim road, tales of Roland and Charlemange and his knights. Now if she could only remember them all. "I know the tale of Tristian and Yseult," she said. "It was very popular in Poitiers with the lady Eleanor, and well known."

"One of the new Arthur stories, no doubt," one of the ladies said. Aude nodded, and Sybilla looked intrigued.

"Very well- tell us this Tristian and Yseult. Is it a romance?" she asked, making a study of Aude.

"Yes, my lady." Aude said with a nod, sitting up and composing herself. Sybilla gave a little wave, and Aude began, tuning her tongue to the poet's stylized repetitions.

"Here is the isle of Britain- see how cold and cloudy she sits

Amidst the waving sea! This is a sad and gloomy island,

Except at Camelard, where Arthur reigns as king.

Goodly Arthur, the son of Uther Pendragon,

His castle at Camelard is like a jewel in the mud of England.

His knights are valiant fellows, brave and strong;

No one bests them in joust or at the tourney.

But still there is a gloom in Arthur's hall;

someone is not rejoicing with the rest.

From the south country has come King Mark, Arthur's sword brother;

His brow is heavy with his care and woe.

"Oh, you may feast and laugh,"

He tells great Arthur's knights,

"But my heart cannot be happy here.

My good knight Tristian, the best of all my warriors,

is now in Ireland, that little rocky island,

Winning a bride for me. Her name is Yseult,

and she is a princess compared to none,

not even Arthur's queen, in beauty…"

* * *

It was time for the evening meal when Sybilla bade her stop, just at the point where Mark was about to find out the treachery of his best friend and greatest knight. The ladies, even those who had sniggered at her poor rendition of Ovid, were spellbound, and had to be shaken from their reverie by a sharp clap of Sybilla's hands.

"Aude, you will sit nearest me for dinner. I am sure Lord Guy would be anxious for news from his home," Sybilla said, taking her newest lady's hand and leading her out to the open courtyard where servants were laying out the dinner at the King's Table. Tiberias was there, along with the Lord Patriarch of Jerusalem in his white robes, and a tall, dour looking middle aged man whom Sybilla, leaving Aude's side, greeted with a kiss. This must have been Lord Guy, and truly, he did resemble his nephew a little, but his face was cold and full of malice. Sybilla whispered to him, and Guy smiled, as if putting up with the whim of a small child. She turned towards Aude and beckoned her forward. Aude went forward and curtseyed, very low.

"My lord husband, this is Audemande of Vinceaux. She was sent at the behest of your nephew, Hugh, to be my attendant." Audemande and glanced at Lord Guy from downcast eyes, thinking it would perhaps be better not to offend this man.

"Of Vinceaux…Sir Armand's daughter," Guy said leisurely, studying her. "How is your lady mother?"

"Well, my lord."

"And your brothers? There were two, I believe."

"A third there is now, Anselm. Reginald is a knight in your nephew's service, and Gregory is serving the Benedictines at the Abbey in Vinceaux. I visited him every week when I was home," Aude said.

"A man of god…" Guy let out a short sneering laugh and then, glancing at his wife, put on a conciliatory look and said, in a completely unsincere manner, "You must forgive me for forgetting these things, Dame Audemande, but it has been many years since I was home. Things change so much over time."

"I understand, my lord," Aude said, curtseying again and letting him move on to the other men assembled at the table. It seemed to be primarily men, anyway; one or two wives and then all of Sybilla's ladies, spaced evenly along the table, dispersed among the councilors and lords. Such a man's world, Audemande thought to herself.

She felt like a visitor at this table, sitting in a place that was not worn down to her liking, with no one to converse with; Tiberias on her right talked with Guy across from her, and Sybilla, next to her at the head of the table, listened intently. The other ladies were too far away to engage, and besides, what had she to talk about with them? Aude instead occupied herself with studying the people at the table. There was the Patriarch of Jerusalem, the man who had said grace (in a very preoccupied manner; he was now conversing with the woman at his side whom he seemed very friendly with) and several men who looked like merchants or traders. More than a few knights, probably newly arrived to Jerusalem to serve the King, and a few men who looked as though they called this table home quite often; a grizzled old man who wore the Jerusalem cross, and a knight of the Hospitaliers, wearing his black robe with its distinct white cross.

These two men kept their own company, and when the conversation between Tiberias and Guy turned to other matters, Sybilla followed her gaze down the table. "That is the Lord Godfrey, of Ibelin. He was once of France, like yourself, though from the North. A solitary man, but a good friend of my brother. With him is Brother John, of the Knights of the Hospital." she added. Audemande nodded. She'd been on the pilgrim road long enough to know the different orders – The Temple, the Hospital, the Saint Lazarus Order. Guy, she noticed, wore no order's badge, not even the robe of Jerusalem which Tiberias wore, the sky blue with the five crosses embroidered in gold.

After dinner was finished and hands had been washed in the rose-scented water of one of the fountains, Sybilla reconvened her little court, ready to finish the story of Tristan and his ill-fated lady love.

"Loud is the wailing of King Mark in his high castle;

His friend is dead and his wife beside him,

No longer does Yseult the beautiful draw breath!

No more will bold Tristian walk a battlefield.

All you who are in love, take care to chose your lover wisely.

A bad choice will make for a bitter end to both of you," Audemande said with a cautionary air, as she had seen the jongeleur do it in Poitiers. Several of the ladies were wiping tears from their eyes, but Sybilla's face was still remarkably calm.

"You will be our reader from now on, Aude. The day after tomorrow you will have to remember another story to entertain us with. Perhaps you can even make one of your own up," she suggested, rising from her cushions. The oil lamps were beginning to sputter, and even they could not pierce the darkness of night enough to see by.

"Petronilla, Aude will share a bed with you. Tomorrow we'll see about some clothes for our lost little bird. One cannot stay in the court of Jerusalem with only one dress," Sybilla said, smiling to Aude. "Will you like that?" she asked.

"If it is my lady's wish, it is my pleasure," Aude said, curtseying low.

"Ah, if I had a dozen like you, Aude," Sybilla said, stroking her chin and smiling. "Good night, my ladies," she proclaimed, taking one of the oil lamps to her own room to prepare for bed.

* * *

Now, I've done a little research, and during the late 1100s it wasn't that uncommon to find female poets, especially since Eleanor of Aquitaine was putting forth the medieival version of female empowerment (courtly love) during this period. Although the female literacy rate in Jerusalem may just be an exaggeration.

If you don't like poetry, I'd put this story aside, because I love it. There will be lots more interludes like the one in this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three- The Edge of the Knife

* * *

"What story is it to be today, Aude? Another one of Arthur's tales, something from our English brethren far away on their gloomy little island, or a proper French story?" Sybilla was in a grand mood this morning, having just risen and completed her morning ablutions. Audemande had been up much longer- the strange cries of the prayercallers, the Muslin muezzins, had awoken her much earlier than the others, who were used to such things.

She'd been here a month now and she still wasn't used to it. The smells of the city, the shouts of Arabic and Hebrew were all still so foreign to her. In every day there was something new to learn, and of course, another story to tell. And she was very much alone, too; Hugo had gone to Jaffa to wait for spring, serving with a caravan heading that way as a man at arms. He had said he hated to go, but the pay was good, and Aude knew he needed the money. He'd made his payment and his pilgrimage; there was no more for him to fulfill.

"Is there one you would like to hear?" Aude asked tentatively, pulling away from the window where she was sitting watching the courtyard below. The bustle of the servants and tradesmen was fascinating to her; so much business went on to keep the castle running!

"Tell us another story from the Court of Love in Poitiers," Sybilla said. "Full of the southern French sunshine, as the saying goes. What did Queen Eleanor like? The romances, tales of courtly love? Or the battle tales, like this Roland I hear so much about."

Aude tried to remember what the traveling jongeleurs had said in Vinceaux; it seemed so long ago, almost another life. "Some said that she liked the courtly love the best, and others the battles."

"And what do you think she would have liked?" Sybilla asked. "You are of her people, and would know better than the desert roses in this room."

"I think…" But Aude didn't know what to think. She'd never been to the Court of Love at Poiters, and she was too young to have even seen Eleanor while she was queen. She'd have to make something up. "I think she would have liked the battles, my lady."

"And why ever would that be, little dove?" Sybilla asked, testing her.

What would be a good excuse for that? "Eleanor rode on Crusade with her first husband, Louis the Younger, and is well-known to have a bellicose temper. Her own marriages have been very poor, and I think a woman who has gained much by war and has lost much for love would like the battles more," Aude decided.

Sybilla clapped her hands and smiled. "A very convincing argument, Aude! If you were not a woman, Tiberias should have taken you as a clerk, or a marshal. Which reminds me," she said, gesturing for her 

lap desk, "I have something I need taken to him." She wrote out a note and, rolling it, handed it to Aude. "Take it to him, will you, Audemande?" She asked, smiling at the young woman.

Sybilla only called her Audemande when something serious was happening; if she used it now, the note must have been important. Aude took the scroll and curtseyed to her lady, setting out across the palace for Lord Tiberias' rooms. It was perhaps the one place in the palace she could find – she'd walked by it a dozen times or more since she'd been here.

The curtains rippled gently in the Lord Tiberias' apartments, but there was no sign of life among the scrolls and flickering candles.

"My lord Tiberias, are you there?" Aude asked, her hand tightening around the scroll in her hand. Someone moved behind her, a little shake of mail rings giving him away. Aude's hand tightened on the little bone-handled knife that hung from her kirtle, the one Hugo had given her after an incident on the road. Turning swiftly around, knife up, she found herself face to face with the Lord Tiberias himself, the tip of her weapon just barely touching the five crosses on his tunic.

The count of Tripoli let out a dry laugh. "Can't a man secret himself away in his own apartment without being attacked?" He asked, looking at Audemande with amusement. The young woman stepped back and slipped the knife back into its hanging sheath, ashamed.

"Forgive me, my lord, you startled me," she said.

"Startled you? And you come at me with a knife? What a little Amazon! You challenge clerks, tell stories of great battles as though you had lived them, and threaten Princes by knife point. I suppose you handle a sword and ride into battle as well, lady Audemande?"

"No, my lord. A sword takes strength, a knife only a quick hand."

"And did they teach you that in Vinceaux?" Tiberias asked, amused.

"I did not know that until I left Vinceaux, and had been on the pilgrim road for several weeks." Audemande explained by way of apology. "I had not known the ways of men before that."

"I see. Well, little Aude, why are you here? It is not generally the business of young women to be in a man's chambers. Especially when that man is old and powerful, and those women are young and unmarried," Tiberias said suggestively, looking at her as though he were a lion and she only a cub in need of teaching.

Aude blushed; she wouldn't ever dream of doing _that_ with Lord Tiberias. "Sybilla sends this note to you, and wishes you would attend it with all speed." She held out the scroll.

"Mmm," Tiberias said, taking the scroll and unrolling it to read the message. "The lady Sybilla tells me you are a student of the written word," he said, holding up the note. "You didn't read this, did you?"

"I would not be so bold as to open a private note, my lord," Audemande said quietly. The Count of Tripoli grunted in acknowledgement and turned his eyes back to the note.

"She writes to tell me she'd like to find you a tutor, so you may continue your studies and become her reader. Has she spoken of this plan to you?"

"No, my lord, nothing of it!" Aude defended. " She mentioned that she thought I had a good voice, but…nothing else," she finished lamely.

"Mmm, well, that may be so, by I doubt there are many teachers in the city who would share her…rather unorthodox views on the education of women. You may tell her that I make no promises, but I shall look into it for her."

Aude nodded and dropped a curtsey. "My lord," she said, turning towards the door.

"And Aude?" Tiberias said, before she had quite gone through the door.

"My lord?" Aude asked, turning back around.

"If you continue to go around threatening men at knifepoint I fear your father's efforts to get your married here will be for naught," the Prince of Galilee said with a faint smile. Aude blushed again and left, hurrying back to Sybilla's chambers.

* * *

I've noticed there are a few of you who put this story on your favorites list or your alerts list and haven't reviewed. PLEASE DO. I'd love to hear what you have to say – and it doesn't have to be very detailed, either. Just your favorite part so far, or maybe what you'd like to see in the future. And this will be a long haul – the printed draft is clocking 91 pages right now…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four- The Words of the Teacher

* * *

It was only a week when news of this promised tutor came back. "I've found you a tutor for your Latin lessons," Sybilla announced one morning as they took their walk in the palace garden, a lavishly pristine paradise in the middle of the castle which would not have been possible in this desert without much well-labored-for water.

"Really, my lady?" Aude asked. She had tried for what seemed like the hundredth time to go through the Ovid again, but the words were still all evading her. And her Rule of Benedict seemed to be getting harder; she was beginning to forget some of the words and if it was allowed to continue, the tiny fire that her brother had built up so carefully would go out. Her Latin was one of the only things she could remember Gregory with, and she did not want to lose her only memorial besides his letter so soon.

"William of Tyre has agreed to teach you, after much commendation by me of your diligence and quickness as a student. I've assured him that you're clever, patient, and stubborn as a mule, so you must be sure to be all of these things with him," Sybilla said with a jesting grin. Aude smiled and nodded.

"I will be sure not to disappoint either him or you, my lady," she assured her mistress. Sybilla nodded.

"Good. He was my brother's teacher, when Baldwin was younger, and the King learned much from him. But you must be patient with him – he is not as young as he once was. But he knows his Latin, and his Greek, should you wish to learn. And he is a great scholar in his own right. He would have been Patriarch of Jerusalem himself, you know, instead of Heraclitus, but my mother had other plans," she added darkly. Aude chose not to ask; court intrigues and politics were a Gordian knot to anyone who hadn't been there when the events had actually occurred.

"And when shall I begin my studies with him?" Aude asked.

"Iam, si licet nobis!" An old man said vigorously from one of the benches farther down the path. Rising from his seat, he bowed to Sybilla and smiled at Aude. "Well, disciplua, what did I say?"

"Now, if we are allowed," Aude translated with a smile. William nodded, pleased.

"I see the Lady Sybilla did not perjure herself for you. That is good. Your brother taught you a little? Answer me in Latin, if you can. It helps to hear it on the tongue."

"Etiam, Magister."

"And what have you read in the tongue?"

" Regula Benedictus, Magister, et De Doctrina Christiana et Confessiones Augustinus,"

"Libri Theologica. Est bene. Sequa, diciplua, et loquate."

_Follow, student, and we will talk._ Aude curtseyed to Sybilla and fell into step with the monkish little man, following him out of the garden and back into the dark, cool hallways of the palace.

* * *

In a small, private room above the courtyard, William finally ended their walk, sitting down in a chair and sighing.

"I must be getting old," he said. "It's getting harder for me to get to this room. When I taught Baldwin I was a much younger man; I used to chase him up here to make him decline his verbs correctly. So, young Aude of Vinceaux in the province of Poitou, what did your brother the Benedictine teach you about the language of God and learned men?"

"He taught me my letters, and some very simple words, and some passages from the Bible," Aude said. "He did not have much time for more. I was to learn how to conjugate more fully, but he said that took days of very hard study, which we could not easily do."

"And your poetry? Who taught you that?"

Aude looked surprised. "No one, Magister. I learned it on my own. Through hearing people, I suppose, and knowing the stories."

"That's a rare gift, Aude of Vinceaux. God's gift to you. Take care you use it wisely." William nodded and considered this. "Very well. We will use the Bible as our textbook, then. Every day you will read a chapter, sometimes two or three, and then you will translate that chapter into French. We will discuss conjugations and other _verbi_, as well as a little theology. Sybilla told you I am a theologian?"

"She did not tell me anything save that you taught the King, Magister, and that you were a scholar," Aude said, feeling as though if she should have heard of him.

William nodded. "If we are to spend all this time together, it is only proper you know something about me." He sat back in his chair and licked his lips, beginning. "I am William, the archbishop of Tyre, author of Reports on the Third Lateran Council, _Story of the Principal Events of the East, _and a yet unfinished manuscript that I am calling _History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea. _I was born and raised in Jerusalem, and learned, when I was your age, Latin, Greek, and Arabic, as well as French, which both my parents spoke. I studied theology in Paris and Orleans, first with Robert of Melun and later with Adam de Parvo Ponte. After that I partook in classics, mathematics, and both civil and canon law, the latter two at the University in Bologna. I came home and served as an ambassador for several years for Almaric, and then returned to Jerusalem to tutor his son, Baldwin. That is the account of my life, as much as has been made of it so far. I am a hard taskmaster, and will expect much from you. They say in the universities where I have studied that women are not built for an academic life, that their minds are too soft to form their own opinion, and their hearts not strong enough to defend that position in debate. But I have seen and known women who defy this rule, and I hope, Aude of Vinceaux, that you will be one of them. _Bene_?"

Aude nodded, a little overwhelmed. "_Bene_, Magister," she said, trying to put on a brave smile.

William clapped his hands and stood up. "Eximus! Iam, labore!"

* * *

I am not a native speaker of Latin. I am not even a native speaker of a romance language descended from Latin, or a student of the Latin tongue. This chapter, and others that will follow it, was made possible by generous contributions by online translators, old latin textbooks, the intermediary translating advice of a friend, and three weeks of latin classes I took for fun (and no credit) as part of a gifted and talented program. If you are a latin student, and you see I've made a big mistake, please tell me. I will welcome your translation help any time. I may even come back for more.

On a purely aesthetic side note, William of Tyre is, in my mind, played by Derek Jacobi. Just something to think about while you're reading. I have yet to find a face for Aude yet, although "The Lady Clare" by John William Waterhouse is a frontrunner now, and the other characters…you know what they look like well enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five – A Song of Praise

* * *

And so her days in Jerusalem went by, in relative tedium; in the morning she sat with Sybilla, in the afternoon studied with William, and in the evenings, after dinner, she told her stories, or, if stories were thin, she translated more of the Bible.

But today was to be leisurely –William was taking the day off from their studies to conference with the Patriarch, Sybilla had taken Petronilla and gone to Bethlehem to pray, and the rest of the ladies, some of whom did not ride and therefore could not accompany the Princess, were playing with their children in the castle garden. Now they were playing Hide-and-Seek, where all of the younger ladies and older children would hide and the younger ones would run about, looking for them. After they were 'found' they switched places, the children hiding and the ladies seeking.

Today was a day for shouting and laughing and behaving in what might be a very unladylike manner, and Aude was content with that. She hadn't enjoyed herself this much since her mother had stopped letting her play with the other children and made her come inside to learn the womanly arts and become ladylike.

"Aude, it's your turn to hide!" one of the little boys said, covering up his eyes. Aude nodded and crept into a corner of the garden she'd never been in before, where the wall curved and then went into a little gate. The gate was unlocked, and Aude, looking behind her at the little children, still counting, disappeared down the path into a different part of the garden.

She walked for quite a ways, down a path that had only creeping vines beside it in the flowerbeds. But the path was winding around, into another garden. She could hear two men talking, and went on, her steps light and nearly silent.

"And what of Reynald? Has his piracy stopped? Saladin's ambassadors complain to me of raiding parties near Kerak and boats on the Red Sea."

"We have warned him, my lord, but it continues. He has a bloodthirsty soul."

"The tales I hear about how he treats his prisoners? Throwing them from the battlements, chopping them up to feed to his dogs?"

"I cannot account for the dogs, my lord, but the throwing of prisoners, well…there are bones outside the battlements and plenty of flies." This voice Aude recognized as Tiberias. As she rounded the wall, she saw that he was sitting with another man, wearing white and fully hooded, despite the morning sun. The two men were playing chess; evidently it was the other man's turn.

"Mmm. And how does a king check that in his knight?" he asked, his fingers lingering over a piece and moving it. Aude moved forward again and a pebble skittered away from her, hitting one of the chairs. Tiberias looked up, frowning, and saw Aude.

"I am sorry, my Lord Tiberias. I did not know this was a private garden. I will leave now," Aude said quickly, dropping a curtsey.

"Wait," said the other man. "Let her stay. Is this the one Sybilla calls the little bird? The storyteller?"

"It is, my lord," Tiberias said, looking over the other man's shoulder at Aude, who was cowed once more by the Prince of Galilee's dark, forboding eyes. "Lady Aude of Vinceaux."

"One of my brother-in-law's people, then," the other man remarked gravely. This was…the king? Aude didn't quite know what to do; from the tales she'd heard the other women tell, Baldwin was reputed to be some kind of monster. And certainly she could believe that—after almost a year at court, she'd never seen him, not once. "Come closer, little bird. I promise I do not eat young women."

Aude took two steps, and then another three; there was a strong perfume in the air, perhaps to cover up something. She was nearly level with the king now, and from her position she could see the hand leaning on the arm of his chair was wrapped in gauze, unusable. In fact, none of his skin could be seen- the other hand was gloved, and his neck, seen through the silvery white veil he wore over his head, was covered with a coif.

"You amuse my sister and me very greatly with your stories, little bird."

"I do not believe I have ever told his Majesty a story," Aude said simply, her eyes fixed on the arm of his chair.

"We have ways of listening. We hope to hear more stories in the future. And perhaps one day you will write a poem about us and our victory at Montgisard?" Baldwin suggested, turning to look at her. Aude looked up, and what she saw there made her try her hardest not to startle or stare.

Where a man's face should have been there was instead a mask, a solid piece of silver whose only entrances to the man behind it were two eye holes, from which two blue eyes blinked and studied her. It was a handsome mask, with almost angelic features; a strong nose, curved a little, and perfect lips, a face unmarred by the ravages of everyday life like the Count's. But beyond the unworldly perfection, the eyes were kind, and so, Aude remembered, was the voice that had spoken to her; it had a little bit of a laugh in it, a good natured tone.

"Yes, anything my lord wishes," she managed, letting herself one last glance at the alienated blue eyes and then dropping her gaze to the floor. Baldwin laughed.

"I see we've startled the little bird, Raymond. Let us release it back to the cage it knows, yes? Back to Sybilla with you, little bird Aude. And remember, we shall be listening to your stories."

* * *

"Aude," Sybilla asked the next day, "I wonder if you might tell me the romance of Olivier and Mirabella again. The one you told us yesterday."

"Would you like me to continue where I left it, my Lady?" Aude asked. "We had not yet finished." It was after the morning prayers, and Sybilla had dismissed the other ladies to their own devices. Without them, the solar seemed strangely empty, and quiet.

"No, no, begin at the beginning. How did you start?" Sybilla tried to recall the line. "The storm-clouds gather over Gaudepoix, the castle of the good king Renuart."

"And in the garden wind shakes down the flowers.  
His daughter Mirabella sits there," Aude continued, "Under the shade of one lone alder tree.

She's waiting there for Olivier, her lover,

One of her father's best beloved knights.

They have been friends since they were tiny children,

When at their nursemaid's knees they played at life,

Pretending they were kings and queens of old,

With dragons, sorcerers, and storms to fight.

Soon it will rain, and Mirabella's nurse

Calls her inside, before she catches cold.

Her father's waiting there, Renuart the fearless;

He's kept his lands well since his father died.

No better king has Gaudepoix yet seen,

And never will see again, after his death.

"Mirabella, only, shining daughter,

These years have not been kind to your old father.

His limbs are getting weak, his hair is thin;

The battles have worn down his fabled strength.

And one day I will die, and join the angels—

When that day comes, I want you to be safe,

To marry with a man of strength and courage

Who will protect you, and watch Gaudepoix."

Mirabella smiles, for she thinks of Olivier,

Who would make a splendid king, with strength and courage

Above all of her father's other knights. They are so much in love

That when Olivier sees her, at the table,

His knees go weak and his whole body quivers.

"I had in mind for you Duke Thybaudin of Piers—

His holding's vast, he keeps with him an army

Of well appointed soldiers, knights, and war machines.

For his taxes he takes in five thousand bezants,

And four thousand more come in as rents.

With him you would be safe, and live in comfort.

Yes, he would make a great king, given time."

Mirabella weeps, so great her sorrow is!

Thybaudin is not Oliver, not even close,

He's short and ugly, and does not know manners;

She's seen him fart in public and then laugh."

From somewhere in the room came a distinct laugh, but Aude saw that Lady Sybilla, while smiling, had not uttered a sound. But past Sybilla, Aude noticed for the first time that the hanging that normally covered the wall behind them was down, and that the wall was not solid stone, but an intricate latticework grill. She stared at it for a moment, and thought, for the briefest moment, she saw something move, but fixed her eyes again and could see nothing.

"Aude? Is something wrong?" Sybilla asked. Had she not heard the laugh?

"No, my lady, nothing," Aude said, trying to remember her place in the story. She glanced at the latticework grill again, and now, distinctly, saw a white cloth move, and something silver shimmer, catching the light for a brief moment. Baldwin! The king was listening behind the lattice. Aude smiled a little and glanced away. _So that's how he's been listening. A secret passageway. I wonder what else he's heard us talk about in here._

"Have you forgotten the rest, Aude?" Sybilla asked, concerned.

"No, my lady, I only lost my place," Aude said. "My apologies."

"You were talking of Thybaudin," the Princess prompted, and Aude nodded, not having forgot her place at all.

"She's seen him fart in public and then laugh,

And ridicule a lady's taste in clothes.

Olivier would never do those things:

He is a courtly knight, and chivalrous.

His manners are tuned finely, like a harp-string

And resonate with everyone who hears them.

But Olivier is poor, his holding's worthless.

A small house is all he has to his name.

A younger son, his brothers are the fortunate,

He's only here at court to gain acclaim…"

* * *

"You're late," William said accusatively as Aude tried to quickly shut the door to their classroom without his noticing. "Good students are never on time, they are –"

"Early, Magister, yes, I know. Sybilla asked for me to tell one of my stories again." And she'd missed the noon meal, too, trying to find her study books. One of the maids had moved them again; there would be angry words tonight after supper.

"A new one?" William inquired.

"No, one she'd already heard before. Olivier and Mirabella."

"That silly muck," the tutor groused. "You should write something serious. Sybilla doesn't like to hear the same tale twice, and from what I hear, these stories are all the same," William said, not looking up from his own manuscript and notes, which he worked on while Aude did her translations.

"I think Baldwin was listening," the young woman said. The archbishop looked up, his interest piqued.

"Yes?" William asked, the single word admonishing her to elaborate. "What makes you say that?"

"I heard him laugh," Aude confessed. She thought on how to explain this for a moment, and then continued. "There is a wall in Sybilla's room that's always covered over by a hanging. But today, it was uncovered, and when I talked with the King in the garden the other day, he said that he had ways of hearing my stories. That must be how."

"Well, you must not get delusions of grandeur, my girl. Simply because you've amused a king does not make you the next Ovid. Translating your Latin, however, will. Where are you in the Psalms?"

"147, Magister."

"So far? You're nearly finished! You've come a long way in these months we've been studying together. Well, read me what you have thus far."

"A song of praise for Jerusalem," Aude read, her own title to the psalm in question.

"Praise the lord, O Jerusalem, Praise your God, O Zion!  
For he strengthens the bars of your gates, he blesses your sons within you.  
he makes peace in your borders, he fills you with the finest wheat.  
He sends forth his command into the earth; his word runs swiftly.  
He gives snow like wool; he scatters hoarfrost like morsels; who can stand his cold?  
He sends forth his word, and melts them; he makes his wind blow, and his waters flow.  
He declares his word to Jacob, his statutes and ordinances for Israel.  
He has not dealt thus with any other nation; they do not know his ordinances.  
Praise the Lord!"

* * *

I just finished reading a great book today called "Warriors of God: Richard the Lionheart and Saladin in the Third Crusade" and I'd recommend it to anyone interested in this period.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Song of a Peacebringer Six – The Bird That Does Not Sing

* * *

When they had finished the Psalms the next day – there had only been three left, and were very easy going – William rose up from his seat and sighed. "Well, that ends your lessons for today, Aude. We're earlier than usual. Go out and enjoy the sunshine. I have business with the king."

"What do you and the king talk about, Magister? Every Friday you go and speak to him, but you do not bring your physician's bag," Aude said, gesturing to the brown satchel full of William's tools and herbs. "So it cannot be for medicinal purposes that you go."

William looked at her and smiled weakly. "If you were not a woman, Aude, you might have made a good spy. You notice things too well. It was Baldwin that reminded his sister of my ability, young Aude. I go to give him reports of your progress every week – something he looks forward to hearing about. And since you've asked, shall we go give this week's together? He would love a recitation – that little poem by Catullus you finished last week should do nicely."

"Recite to the king?" Aude repeated, awestruck.

"You've told him your stories, haven't you?" William pointed out, looking at her with that expression that indicates the speaker knows his demand is reasonable.

"He was behind a wall, Magister, and easier to overlook," Aude said as an excuse.

"And you think being in the same room with him will be any different? Or is there something else that repels you, Audemande? The mask, perhaps? You'd like the face beneath it even less," William probed, his face discerning and his eyes hard. Aude looked away, ashamed. "Aude, compassion is the one thing Christ desires of us above all things, a desire to love the others of our race and show them the light of God. "I desire compassion, not sacrifice," He said. And in his own works, He did the same."When He went ashore, He saw a large crowd, and felt compassion for them and healed their sick." This could be how you heal the King."

"With my poem?" Aude asked, disbelieving.

"With your company," William said. "Aside from Sybilla, Tiberias and myself, he hardly sees a soul. He may be a king, Audemande, but he is also still a man, and a very young man who needs the company of other young people. Now come – let us liven up his day with a little Catullus."

Baldwin's quarters were dark and the windows hung with gauzy white drapes – The light sometimes hurt his eyes, the Doctor explained. The King was sitting at his desk, perusing several important looking papers with official looking seals on their ends, large fanciful wax impressions over long bits of string.

"Your majesty," William said, bowing low. "Your humble servant and physician is here to ask you how you feel today?"

"The same as ever, William," Baldwin said, not looking up. "My head hurts, my hand stings, my whole body's falling to pieces and no one will be here to pick them up when they do finally hit the ground."

William coughed discreetly and Baldwin looked up, pausing when he saw Aude. "You've brought a friend with you, William. Your student --Sybilla's little bird. Audemande, correct? Why's she come here?"

"The little bird came to sing, your majesty," Aude said with a tight and meager smile. Baldwin laughed and sat back in his chair, pulling it away from his desk.

"Very well then, little bird, sing for the King of Jerusalem. What is your song this afternoon? Not more romances, I hope." Aude thought she saw him wink at her, and she held back a wider smile – he _had_ been listening again the other day.

"Aude has prepared a poem from Catullus's writings, my lord," William said with a slightly testy tone; he did not really approve of Aude's outside writings, as frivolous as they were.

"Ah, Catullus. And how do you find him, Aude?" Baldwin asked, tipping his head to the side, waiting for her answer.

Aude looked at William, who nodded for her to go on. "I found him crass, my lord," she said truthfully. "His mind and heart are very fickle."

"Yes, that is Catullus," Baldwin admitted. "Very well, continue."

Aude glanced down at her paper and cleared her throat, trying to find that voice she used when she was reciting her own poetry.

"Is it you, my friend of friends, who come,  
Dearer to me than a million others,  
Veranius, home to your hearth and home,  
The aged mother, the loving brothers?  
You have come home! O joy – it is well.  
I shall see you safe, I shall hear you tell  
(you best know how) of Hiberian races,  
And the deeds they do, and the storied places.  
And drawing your neck…" Aude stopped, embarrassed by the next few lines.  
"And drawing your neck in my own for a while,  
I shall kiss the face and the eyes that smile.  
Oh! Hearts that are happy are over the rest,  
Is any so happy as I, or so blest?"

It was a poor choice of poems to recite to a man who had few companions, but the king seemed pleased by it. Baldwin clapped his hands together lightly, nodding. "That was well phrased, Aude. You've had a good teacher. William, will you stay for chess?"

"Alas, my lord, but my manuscript calls me," the older man said, bowing. "But Aude will stay with you, if it is company you desire," He added, glancing at his student, as if to tell her that her mind was already made up on the matter.

"You will stay?" Baldwin asked, looking at Aude. The young woman nodded, trying not to be afraid. "Very well then, until tomorrow, William," Baldwin said. "I've something else to discuss with you."

William nodded, and bowed out, leaving Aude in the dark room with only the King for company, the servants at the fringes of the room, silent and statuesque. "You don't play, do you?" the young king asked, pointing to the chess set. Aude shook her head.

"I do not have the head for it," she admitted sheepishly.

"That's unfortunate," Baldwin sighed. "I was rather hoping for a game today. No matter – we'll talk then. Sybilla tells me that your lessons go well with the Archbishop of Tyre," Baldwin said simply. "I see that he enjoys them. Is he treating you well? You do not find his instruction too harsh?"

"No, my lord, not at all. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn."

"Ah, that is good," Baldwin said. "I, too, loved to learn once. Such stories he would show me – Aesop, Ovid, Virgil and Homer. I enjoyed them so."

"He often says you had a quick mind, my lord," Aude put in. Baldwin chuckled.

"That's about the only thing that's quick about me nowadays. This disease has slowed me down considerably. But that is why I must have quick eyes and ears like yours and Sybilla's around my court, to hear new stories and bring them to my chambers. Have you any new romances today, little Aude? Gossip I should hear? Whispers of what new low levels my vassals are reaching?"

"Nothing, sire," Aude said. "I am sorry," she added. She didn't know anything important enough to be worth the king's hearing, surely…

"You're not sorry," Baldwin accused. "You're too meek and too afraid of me to report anything that might anger me. I've been caged long enough to know when the birds are not singing because they are afraid the lion will eat them, Audemande." He laughed at Aude's abjectly surprised look. "And your innocence won't fool me – Tiberias told me when you first came here how you yelled so ferociously at his clerk it nearly made his ears bleed. Now come, tell me everything."

Aude was taken aback – he'd heard of her from Tiberias? She wondered how many people knew about that unfortunate clerk and when she'd live it down. "I…would not know where to begin, my lord," Aude said.

"Of all the little birds I know, Audemande of Vinceaux, you're the only one who doesn't seem to particularly enjoy singing," the king observed frankly. "I'll tell Sybilla to start calling you something else. The hawk's a bird that does not sing. But I think you are no hawk – when you cry it is not bitter. No, more peaceful, softer, like…a dove. The Little Dove – that's what I'll call you from now on. Begin with…" he thought about this for a moment. "Begin with what you do. What dusty book does William have your head shoved inside?" Baldwin asked mirthfully.

"The Bible. We have just finished Psalms," Aude said.

"The Psalms," Baldwin repeated fondly. "Do you have a favorite?"

"No, my lord," Aude said. "Do you, my lord?" she asked tentatively.

"The fifty-fifth," Baldwin replied without hesitation. "Do you know it?" He asked kindly.

"Not by heart, my lord, but if you began it, I might remember," Aude offered.

"Listen to my prayer, O God," Baldwin began,

"do not ignore my plea;

hear me and answer me.

My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught

at the voice of the enemy,

at the stares of the wicked;

for they bring down suffering upon me

and revile me in their anger.

My heart is in anguish within me;

the terrors of death assail me.

Fear and trembling have beset me;

horror has overwhelmed me.

I said, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!

I would fly away and be at rest-

I would flee far away

and stay in the desert;

I would hurry to my place of shelter,

far from the tempest and storm."

Confuse the wicked, O Lord, confound their speech,

for I see violence and strife in the city.

Day and night they prowl about on its walls;

malice and abuse are within it.

Destructive forces are at work in the city;

threats and lies never leave its streets.

If an enemy were insulting me,

I could endure it;

if a foe were raising himself against me,

I could hide from him."

Baldwin's voice was gentle, and pleasant to listen to; Aude could imagine him speaking to a great multitude and having all of them listen in awe. But here he paused, and sighed, continuing on with a little more hope in his voice.

"But it is you, a man like myself,

  
with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship

as we walked with the throng at the house of God." He turned his face towards Aude's, and she could imagine him smiling. "There is more, but I generally stop there. It describes my plight exactly, no?" he said. "I see violence and strife in my city, and destructive forces at work within it. Even within my own house," he added bitterly. Aude looked at her lap in shame. "No, not you, dear girl. My sister's husband, for a start."

"He says he goes to Nazareth to pray, but when he comes home, he gives his armor to his squires to clean, and I hear them complaining of the blood they must wash off," Aude put in. Baldwin turned to look at her, interest glittering in his blue eyes.

"Now that is what I wish to hear, little dove. Pray continue and delight an infirm young man with sordid details of the court life."

She found she had more to talk about than she thought she did – she talked of the other ladies, and who liked whom, the price of grain from Egypt and the state of the livestock, things she'd heard from travelers at the king's table and from the other ladies themselves. And Baldwin listened, intently, interrupting seldom and saying little. But his questions were discerning, well thought out, intentioned to find the most information in the fewest words. She hardly noticed the time after that, and it was only when Sybilla's servant came to summon her back to her mistress that she realized she had been talking for nearly two hours.

"Go to dinner, little dove. Even birds must eat their meals," Baldwin said, shooing her along.

"Shall I…come back tomorrow, my lord?" Aude asked tentatively.

"No, I'll call for you when I wish to speak with you again. In the meantime, you will continue your poetry." Baldwin said. "I will wish to hear more of it when we meet again. It amuses me."

"Anything my king wishes is his," Aude said, curtseying and leaving.

She found at dinner she had nothing more to discuss with anyone, and ate her meal in nearly perfect silence.

* * *

"He made good progress in his studies and as time passed he grew up full of hope and developed his natural abilities. He was a good-looking child for his age and more skilled than men who were older than himself in controlling horses and in riding them at a gallop. He had an excellent memory and he loved listening to stories. He was inclined to be thrifty, but he always remembered the good things that people had done for him, and the bad things as well. He was very like his father; not only did they look alike, but they were of similar build. They walked in the same kind of way and their speech patterns were similar. He had a quick understanding, but he had a stammer. Like his father he had a passion for hearing about history, and he paid attention to the good advice he was given."

William of Tyre on the young Baldwin IV, from his Chronicle. Quoted in Bernard Hamilton, p.43

* * *

Okay, so I've gotten to the point where I've started keeping a Works Consulted page for this story. I am that hard core, people. And let me tell you, there's already eight things on it. I'm also considering a pilgrimage to the Holy Land (tentatively for two years down the road) to see some major religious sites in Jerusalem as well as perhaps seeing the Fortress of Tiberias, and parts of Egypt. HOW COOL WOULD THAT BE?

Review, please. Share in my excitement.


	7. Chapter 7

Song of a Peacebringer – Seven – Appointed

* * *

"So," Sybilla began after dinner. The servants were going around lighting the candles, and the Princess had just returned from her brother's rooms. "William of Tyre took you to see my brother. And what did you think of the King of Jerusalem, Audemande? Did he frighten you?" she asked frankly.

"I had seen him before, my lady," Aude confessed. Sybilla looked at her with a fixed intensity, silently telling her to go on and explain. "When you were in Bethlehem, those months ago, I wandered into his garden where he was playing chess with Count Tiberias. We spoke of poetry," Aude added, as if this might soften the news.

"You've not done it again, have you? Invaded his personal garden?" Sybilla asked sharply.

"No, my lady, not at all. It was a mistake, and one I will not make again," the younger woman apologized.

Sybilla sighed. "My brother has few luxuries in this life, and his privacy is only one. I will not have him being disturbed at odd hours by my wandering lady-in-waiting," she pronounced. Aude noticed that the Princess was strangely protective on the subject of her brother – her normally smiling face was drawn into a thin, tightlipped line, the expression she wore when she was cross. "Has he asked to speak with you again?"

"He said that he would call for me, if he had need. He said he wished to hear more poems, that they amused him," Aude recounted.

Sybilla's face softened."Did he, now? That's good." Sybilla rose from her seat and went over to the window, looking out on the courtyard. "He's only a year younger than me, you know. Twenty-one," she said pensively. "And you are only five years younger than him. Were it not for his sickness, he would be married by now, have a wife and children he could look after. Alas that he has none of that. Forgive me for my shortness, Aude. I am the only thing that he has left, and the only one who will protect him."

"Protect him from me, my lady?"

"From everyone who might hurt him, Aude, in body or in soul. I do not think you, little bird, are capable of hurting anyone."

"I am grateful for my lady's trust in me," Aude said mournfully, thinking of times when she had hurt, and deeply, too.

"But you have Baldwin's trust as well," Sybilla said. "He would not have asked me to bring you to him after dinner tomorrow otherwise."

Aude couldn't help but let her mouth drop open. Through all that, Sybilla had known all the while that Baldwin wanted to see her? "He has asked for me?"

"He talked of little else for the anticipation," Sybilla assured her with a smile. "It will mean very much to him, Aude. Now, to bed with you. We cannot have the little bird tired for tomorrow's recitation."

* * *

"Aude, the little dove! You've returned to me," Baldwin said.

"Little dove?" Sybilla asked, sitting down near her brother and straightening her dress. "That's a name I haven't heard before."

"Unlike the rest of your birds, Sybilla, this one does not like to sing," Baldwin explained. "And she is peaceful, like the dove. So that is her name now."

"Well, she'll have to learn to like singing if she wishes to stay in my good graces," Sybilla said, looking at Aude with an almost threatening glace.

Baldwin, however, didn't notice. He patted a cushion and beckoned Aude closer. "Come, sit here, on this cushion near me, and tell me a new story."

"I have not had time since yesterday to compose one, my lord," Aude apologized.

"What, you are not God, that poems simply spring into being at your command?" Baldwin asked with a little jesting sarcasm. "You may read, then. Are you familiar with Ovid?"

Sybilla glanced anxiously at Aude, who paused and then smiled. "I have heard of him, my lord, and read a little bit, but I shall try, for you. Please pardon any mistakes that I will make."

A servant brought over the book, and Aude stroked the cover, remembering how nearly a year before she'd stumbled through the complex maze of Latin. Now she saw the words and knew exactly what they meant.

"All were awestruck nor did they approve of such words,  
Before everyone Lelex, experienced in mind and age,  
So said: "The power of the sky is great and has no end,  
And whatever the gods have wished is accomplished,  
So that you may doubt less, an oak tree  
Next to a linden tree on Phrygian hills is surrounded by a modest wall;  
I myself saw the place; for Pittheus sent me into  
Pelopeian fields that are ruled by his parent.  
By no means far from here is a swamp, once habitable land,  
Now waves, frequented by seagulls and water fowl;  
Jupiter came here in mortal disguise, and  
With his parent came Mercury the caduceus bearer after his wings had  
been set aside They approached a thousand homes, seeking a place for rest,  
But locks closed a thousand homes; however one house received them,  
Small indeed, covered with straw and reeds from the marsh,  


But the pious old woman Baucis and Philemon of equal age  
Have been joined in youthful years in that house…"

It was very dark when Aude finally finished reading, a much more polished rendering than the first time she'd seen the story.

"Faith follows wishes: they were the guardians of the temple,  
as long as life was given; weakened by years and old-age  
when by chance they were standing before the sacred steps and  
discussing the place's downfall, Baucis saw that Philemon was in leaf,  
old Philemon saw that Baucis was in leaf.  
And now while the top grew over twin countenances  
while it is permitted, they returned mutual words and said 'farewell,  
o companion' at once, likewise bark covered concealed mouths:  
and turned the two to trees."

"Ovid's no small feat of translation," Baldwin said, impressed. "William's done a good job with you, Aude. I can see the time was not wasted."

"I pray that the day will never pass where I waste my lord's time," Aude said sincerely.

"I did not say that reading Ovid was a good use of **my **time," Baldwin said blatantly, and Aude could not help but laugh, knowing that he meant it as a joke. Baldwin tipped his head again, gazing at her studiously. "You have a pretty laugh, Aude of Vinceaux."

"Thank you, my lord," Aude said, looking away shyly.

The next day she returned to read more of the Ovid, and the day after that the same. On the fourth day Baldwin gestured to the great-leatherbound Bible and asked her to read from that, and when she was ready to leave entrusted her with a slim volume of poems he wanted her to translate and read next time to discuss with him.

On some days he had something in mind, and on others, bade her read or recite whatever came to her mind. It became a game to find a story he hadn't heard before – Sybilla took her out into the Patriarch's quarter of the city and, both of them heavily and simply veiled, browsed with her the dim bookshops for new stories, two of Tiberias' men standing behind them for protection.

A routine began to fall into place, to listen to anything and everything Baldwin might wish to hear if stories were thin on the ground. She went to the Haut Cour and watched Tiberias, sitting near the clerks and listening to the news -- and the soldiers around her. It was amazing what men would say when they thought no one was listening, and Aude learned plenty. Baldwin grew to depend on her to fill in any gaps in Tiberias' memories of the day's events, especially if one needed to remember exactly what was said. Tiberias couldn't hold on to details like how a particular threat or promise had been phrased, but Aude could, and she spent many hours with the two men picking over a sentence for vague intentions and hidden meanings.

Even Guy, who tried to notice the King as little as possible, commented that the sovereign seemed more productive, even a little more happy, as the months rolled on. "Well, if Guy has noticed, there must be a change," Baldwin laughed when Aude told him. "How long do you think it will take William to get you through the rest of your Latin lessons?" he asked, changing the subject.

" Another several months, my lord. Not until this coming Easter. He'll be in Tyre after the new year, and is returning when the Pentecost is complete. He says that I am far enough along to manage on my own, and now only need the practice of translating to understand fully."

"Oh, that's time enough," Baldwin nodded, sitting back in his chair. "Sybilla and I," He looked at his sister for support, "Have devised a plan. I'd like to give you an official position – the Court Poet. There would be no change of duties, only that perhaps in the evening, when it is cooler, you could come, with Sybilla, and tell the both of us your little poems. You would compose more, but in my name, with me as your patron." Aude stared at him, taken aback. "I'm told it's done in Europe," Baldwin said, his eyes searching her face. "Of course, if you do not wish for the attention-"

"Your majesty overwhelms me with his generosity," Aude began, but Baldwin silenced her.

"Ah, now, it comes with a price," Baldwin said, holding up a finger. "In return for this service, I would reward you with a small dowry…a piece of land should suffice. Perhaps there's land near Ibelin that I can gift," he thought aloud, looking at his sister. "You are, after a fashion, a ward of Jerusalem, my ward, and thus I am beholden to give something for your marriage."

"It is too much for such a little thing!" Aude said quickly. "Knights, lords even, are given land for service in battle, and for honor rendered! I can do no such thing!"

"It is your service that you offer me, is it not?" Baldwin pointed out. "You cannot serve me on a battlefield, but in my own house, you are a necessity. You, little Poitevin bird, will keep your king from going mad," he said with a laugh, leaning forward in his chair and fixing her with his blue eyes. Audemande looked at Sybilla, who merely smiled and gave an elegant little shrug; she'd have to decide this one on her own.

"Every day?" Aude repeated after a silence. Baldwin eased himself up in his chair.

"Every day, even Sundays," he assured her. "Though not before church, of course."

One got used to the stillness of Baldwin's face, Aude reflected, after talking with him. There were ways he showed a person how he was feeling— the mask did not hide everything about him. But still, it was so foreign, and so…strange.

Doctor William's words before her first meeting with Baldwin taunted her --

_Compassion is what God desires, Aude. Will you not be compassionate and be his friend?_

Another verse came unbidden to her mind, a quote from Benedict_ –You must relieve the lot of the poor, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and bury the dead. Go help the troubled and console the sorrowing._

Was Baldwin troubled? Certainly. Was the king sorrowing and in need of consolation? Perhaps. But he was also sick, and Benedict did say 'visit the sick.' Was he now so repulsive as some? No…

"Yes, my lord. I will be your reader," Aude said. If she could not help the poor, or fight for God, she could at least do this.

Baldwin nodded once, and his eyes looked content. "If you were a knight, I might ask you to swear an oath to me. But you are no knight, and there is no oath that would bind you to me in this service."

"In my country, such a bargain might be sealed with a kiss," Aude suggested. "On the hand, or the cheek."

"It is also this way in my country," Baldwin affirmed. "But a kiss on the hand shows servitude, and you are no servant, Audemande of Vinceaux."

Aude blinked, and swallowed nervously. "Then I kiss your cheek, my lord, to show my service to you," she announced, her voice unsure.

She stepped forward three steps and knelt down to Baldwin's level, gently brushing her lips over the smooth, foreign surface of his mask. Surprisingly cool, it left a bitter feeling on her lips, and she backed away, brushing her lips with her hand, as if to warm them again. Baldwin nodded regally to her, and Audemande, dismissed, went quickly back to Sybilla's rooms, wondering what she had just done.

"Not many women would have done that," Sybilla said as Aude prepared for bed. Petronilla and the other women looked at the two of them, wondering what the two women could be talking about. Sybilla tapped her cheek, and Aude smiled wanely, pursing her lips together, the memory of the silver mask still cold in her mind. "You are full of surprises, Audemande of Vinceaux. Perhaps there's more of the hawk than the dove in you after all," Sybilla said with a smile.

* * *

Reviews, please. Also, if you're looking for something else to read, TelcontarRulz is hosting a KoH contest. You should check out his page to see details and nominees. Song of a Peacebringer hasn't been nominated, but some of my other peices have, and I'd encourage you to read some of the other entrants.


	8. Chapter 8

Song of a Peacebringer: Chapter 8 -- A Time to Dance

* * *

_To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:_

_A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;_

_A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;_

_A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;_

_A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;_

_A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;_

_A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;  
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. _

_-Ecclesiastes 3:1-8._

* * *

It seemed that May of the next year could not come fast enough for Aude; October and November trudged along into December, which, though colder, could boast no snow for Christmas. Her second Christmas in Outremer, and Aude still hadn't gotten used to the weather. Petronilla and the others had a hard time believing Aude's tales of fur and woolen stockings and freezing cold nights; the closest they'd ever come to something that cold was ice from the mountains, and that was only very seldom. But the Christmas season crept on until the new year's Lent was finally upon them, and Aude fasted and prayed and wrote several long letters to Gregory to practice her Latin until Doctor William returned from Tyre after Easter was finished.

But even after the Resurrection had been celebrated it seemed the parties were not going to cease.

"But why is there to be a feast tonight?" Aude asked, watching the other ladies flutter to and fro with pots of cosmetic and veils and jewelry with Sybilla looking on like the princess she was, amused. "Eastertide is passed!"

"Because it is my wedding anniversary," Sybilla said. "I will have been married to Guy for…three years now. And someone has decreed that we should celebrate it. Why, I shouldn't know. I wouldn't celebrate it if someone gave me the choice. But it will be a feast, and we will make merry, and perhaps someone will forget the reason we are celebrating. You will enjoy yourself, Aude, won't you?"

"Yes, my lady," Aude said, nodding.

"Do you dance, Aude?" Sybilla asked, a little distant. "I should love to see you dance. A little thing like you, and graceful – it would be good to see. I have engaged a jongeleur, a man from Paris who says , cheeky fellow, that he came to Jerusalem only to please the Princess's ears. I have not heard good music in a long time. Perhaps he'll play a song you know," she added.

"Will Baldwin come?" Aude asked quietly. Sybilla turned to look at her. "To celebrate your marriage, I mean, and wish you joy, " she quickly amended, seeing her lady's face.

"I doubt my brother would want to wish my husband joy, Aude," Sybilla said frankly. "He approved the match only that we might have aid from France if it was needed and an heir if he died, and I do not think the reminder of the occasion brings him much pleasure." Sybilla sighed. "Guy was my choice, my mother's choice. A poor choice, obviously – I thought I could control him and keep him under my power. Before my husband married me, he was a minor lord of no account who was only in Jerusalem because he had been exiled from Poitou for killing a man—did they tell you that in France?"

"No, my lady," Aude said, surprised.

"Yes," Sybilla said in a low, sad voice. "My husband is little better than a murderer. The men they give for kings!" she said, her voice falsely happy. "Better not to remember that tonight. Tonight, we celebrate, and smile, and laugh, and dance. And you will dance, Aude, even if I have to teach you."

However solemn the court of Jerusalem was the other days of the year, on feast days it was always a joyous time. And certainly Sybilla knew how to entertain her guests – rare and rich meats had been bought from the markets, peacocks and swans, and other wild meat from Egypt, and Africa. The best vegetables that could be found were now stewing, simmering, and blanching before they would reach the great tables set out in the hall, and the feast would begin. Sybilla looked like the queen she was meant to be, in the dress she had told Aude she had been married in, with a great collar of gold and sapphires around her neck, shimmering brilliantly. "Sapphires are the gems of kings," Petronilla explained from her seat beside Aude, "because they give wisdom and power to the mind."

After Guy and Sybilla had sat down at the table and bid their guests welcome (there were more than usual: the whole hall had been lined with tables around the sides, and instead of sitting at the head of the table, the Princess and her consort were instead at the top of the box the tables formed) the feast began. And what a feast! First, of course, there were the light dishes, chickens and other fowl alongside dishes of delicately stewed peaches, the first of the season, and plenty of soups. Petronilla tried everything, leaving Aude, on the other half of their trencher, to only taste some of the dishes. Then came a light cheese of some French variety, and more meats, heavier this time, beef and some of the more interesting looking game.

Petronilla insisted Aude try the rabbit, but the French girl found it stringy and much less tasty than the rabbit she had eaten at home. The whole feast, while fantastic (the castle cooks had taken the peacocks, roasted them and then put their feathers back on to be presented to Sybilla and Guy) was very filling and not at all very tasty; Aude longed for the good simple meals she'd eaten at home with her family, or with Gregory at the Abbey.

But after the food had all been eaten, the jongeleur that Sybilla had spoken of came forth, and with an elaborate gesture, also produced the members of his traveling company, ready to play the music for the dancing. Many of the younger knights seemed excited for this, while their older companions sat back and laughed, complaining of digestion and telling the younger ones to enjoy the music. Sybilla caught Aude's eye and with a wild smile got up from her own chair to join the dancers, much to the displeasure of her husband, who was watching the proceedings with a sour look, as though dinner had not agreed with him. Aude noticed that he wore that expression quite a lot, and had stopped questioning it a while back.

"Join us, Aude!" Sybilla called to her lady-in-waiting after the first three dances had finished. "We need another for the carole."

"I do not know the carole, my lady," Aude admitted. "My mother did not know it, and could not teach me."

"Then I will teach you, Aude! Come here! Your princess demands it!" Sybilla said with a smile. Aude bowed her head and acquiesced, joining the circle of dancers weaving in and out of each other in time to the jaunty tune.

By the time the song was over Aude was happy she hadn't eaten as much as some of the others. Petronilla had to bow out, her face red with the exertion, and two of the younger knights as well. But Sybilla was still going strong, and so, it seemed, was Aude, who hadn't run so much since she didn't know when.

"Come, Godfrey, join the dance!" Sybilla ordered, speaking to the tall, older man who sat by himself at the corner of the table, neither high enough to command respect or low enough to be ignored. Aude knew him vaguely – Godfrey of Ibelin, a baron who had lands out in the desert and was often away from court caring for them. She knew also that he was unmarried, that he was silent most of the times he had been at table with them before, and that Baldwin loved him like a favored uncle. "We are short a man, and have need of you!"

"I fear, my lady, that I cannot," Godfrey said gruffly. "My apologies to you, Princess, my lady." He nodded curtly to Audemande, but Sybilla was not done with her wheedling yet.

"You have danced before in our company, and well. Aude needs a partner," Sybilla said, pulling Aude to her side as if to show her off. "Surely you would not resist such a sweet face as hers."

"I am too old for such a pearl, my princess," Godfrey said. "Entrust her to another."

"Are you to be so cruel with me, Baron? One dance, before you return to your desert home and your pilgrims," Sybilla wheedled sweetly.

"If the need is so great, Princess, then my heart accedes to your desires, " the Baron of Ibelin said finally, coming around the table and taking Aude's hand with a slight bow. His hand was large in comparison with hers, larger than her father's or even her brother Reginald's hand. It felt like her father's, though, a hand that has known the sword and the reins and the blood of battle in their palms. Her own small fingers were dwarfed inside it.

The jongeleur began playing a tune she knew, the Kalenda Maya. On the pilgrim road, there were many who took news and music from one place to another, and this was a popular enough song now. She'd never heard the words before, though, and this singer knew them well enough to render them for the court.

"In my country in the North we call this dance the estampie," Godfrey said, "and in Italy, the stampita. Strange how music travels so. "

"They play this dance in Poitou as well, but there, it is an estampia." Aude said.

"Raimbaut de Vaquieras wrote this after he saw a contest at the house of the Marquess of Montferrat, Boniface, the younger brother of Sybilla's first husband, William. Strange that we should play it now to celebrate her second," Godfrey said, jumping with the dance.

"Strange indeed, sir," Aude responded, and from thence they spoke no more.

The stamping of the feet that gave the dance its name made even serious Godfrey laugh, and at the end of the dance he escorted her to the side of the hall, breathing hard.

"I should not dance so, at my age. Sybilla asks too much of me. It is her favorite song, you know, though Guy disapproves, because the poet sings of seeing his lady naked. She asked the jongeleur to play it -- Scheming snake," he said, almost fondly.

"Do you speak the Occitan, my lord?" Aude asked, hopeful that perhaps she'd found another from her part of France.

"Oh, no," Godfrey said. "Someone translated it for me once, after I asked them to explain several… comments to me."

"I see," Aude said. There was an uneasy silence. "I am sorry for Sybilla, my lord," Aude said, returning to the last topic before the musical interlude. "She should not have asked you to dance with me."

"She laughs too loudly, and too long," Godfrey said, breathing deeply with a frown on his face. "Anyone could see the joy is forced. And I know why she must, which pains me."

"She has told me, as well," Aude added, her voice very quiet.

Godfrey looked at her and smiled. "So serious, for one so young! I was always told as a boy that Poitou was a happy place! And if you and Lord Guy are to be examples, it must have rotted much since then! Why do you not go dance with the others instead of keeping company with an old man like me?"

"If you were to die, my lord, from overexertion, Sybilla would not forgive me," Aude explained. "Nor Baldwin," she amended.

The older man looked at her, as if he was trying to recognize her from another time."Aude – that's short for Audemande. You are the poet," Godfrey said, realizing. "Baldwin's spoken of you to me. You are to be his Court Poet. He commends you very highly."

"Baldwin speaks often, and well, of you," Aude said in response, trying not to seem too proud.

"He has few friends," Godfrey said sparely. "It is a shame he cannot speak of more."

"Then I am glad to know one of them," Aude said truthfully. Godfrey looked at her with a slim smile.

"And I am glad to know you, Audemande of Vinceaux. Your innocence is refreshing here amidst the blood and mockery."

"I am glad my lord thinks highly of it," Aude responded, at a loss for what to say next. "It is a shame, that he cannot be here to celebrate with us." Aude said after a time, glancing at the upper gallery, which was covered in the same latticework as Sybilla's wall. Perhaps he was watching from there, too.

"The music hurts his ears. But he will be watching from somewhere. Of that I have no doubt," Godfrey assured her, looking for himself at the upper gallery.

"He watches a great many things, doesn't he?" Aude asked, smiling.

"That he does, my lady, that he does. I have yet to hear a poem of yours," the Baron remarked, abruptly changing the subject. "Perhaps you should recite one to the company, in honor of this grand event," Godfrey offered, gesturing to the company and taking a goblet of wine from a passing server, sipping gratefully.

"I have nothing prepared! And my Lord would not enjoy them -- they are silly tales." It was true – Guy had no time for 'women's stories' as he called them. Battles might have pleased him better, but when all was said and done, he was a man for action and not introspection and story-telling.

"If they amuse Baldwin, my lady, they are bound to amuse me," Godfrey said with assurance.

"Perhaps you will hear one in his rooms one day, then," Aude said evasively. She did not have to be evasive much longer; Count Raymond was approaching them with a mischievous sort of smile on his face.

"Godfrey, I am stealing your dance partner," he pronounced. "You cannot have all the pretty girls to yourself, you know."

"Good, take her! She's worn me out," Godfrey complained with a smile, letting her to Tiberias. Aude chuckled a little at his joke and glanced at the Count of Tripoli.

"There was a time, my friend, when this little slip of a girl would have been merely a taste for you," Tiberias taunted. Aude smiled, embarrassed, and looked at the floor until Godfrey came back to her rescue.

"You're making the lady blush, Raymond. Have your dance and then return her to Sybilla. She's far too young for old war-horses like us. Besides, what will Eschiva say?"

"Oh, leave my wife out of it, Godfrey," Raymond laughed and nodded to Godfrey, leading Aude out into the lines of the dance as the music began again – a very slow and stately tune that left much time for talking.

"So, little bird, did your singing enchant the Baron Ibelin? That's a window few birds in this court fly high enough to see."

"We talked of Baldwin, and my poetry. Nothing more," Aude assured him.

"And the window was open, too!" Raymond remarked with interest. Aude smiled thinly and looked at her dancing slippers – she didn't like what the Count's tone suggested for the two of them. Godfrey of Ibelin was surely too old for her. Raymond changed the subject."He is a good man, and a good friend to the king. It was he who pointed out to William Tyre that the young prince did not flinch when he was struck in the practice courts."

"I wish there were more men like him," Aude admitted.

"Is that so? The king will hear of that, my girl. You could find worse husbands than him," Raymond pointed out, smiling in a joking manner.

"Count Tiberias, you tease me!" Aude complained, smiling.

"An old man_ is_ allowed to do that, you know," Tiberias pointed out with a gruff smile. "Come along – back to Sybilla with you, before Godfrey takes me to task for keeping you awake past your bedtime or some such nonsense."

* * *

Tiberias and Raymond were so much fun to write in this chapter. They're both older and they both know Baldwin well and have the advantage of being men that Aude respects and fears, so their interactions with her take on a very interesting tint.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine – Letters

* * *

_Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How is my lady? Is my father well? How is my Juliet? That I ask again, for nothing can be ill if she be well._

_-Romeo, __Romeo and Juliet,__ Act V, scene i_

* * *

Aude left the banquet before the music was even beginning to near its ending, and trudged upstairs to Sybilla's rooms. She was too giddy to sleep, but not quite alive enough for more of the estampia and the carole downstairs. Now would be a good time to write to Gregory and return the letter she'd received earlier in the month.

_From Audemande, daughter of Armand of Vinceaux in Poitou, ward of Jerusalem and Lady-in-Waiting to Sybilla, Princess of Jerusalem, to Brother Gregory, of the Order of Saint Benedict in the Abbey of Vinceaux in Poitou. Written this twentieth day of April in the year of our lord 1183. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I give you greetings, brother._

_Alleluia! Christ is risen, brother! I have never seen so much joy in this city, not even at Christmastide. I would wager you, Gregory, if it were not against Benedict's rule to gamble, that the celebrations here in Jerusalem are even bigger than those in Rome hosted by the Pope! I have seen all the great pilgrimage sites by now; we heard Mass in the Sepulcher on Easter Vigil and it was truly a sight to hear and see. So many pilgrims! I would have so loved to have you there with me; I cannot describe it fully. Godfrey of Ibelin was our companion to mass, but he said little on the service when it was finished…_

He wrote back in time for her to receive the letter by the following New Year, a present she did not expect.

_Aude, I would have loved to have been to Easter mass in the Sepulcher as well. But you must try to describe everything to me; what sort of Court Poet would you be if you did not? In the scriptorium they have me illuminating now – I have done the capitals in this letter for practice, and will try to sign my name as I might begin a page. Brother Rene would call it vanity, and have me taken in front of Prior Herbert for discipline, but if is for the greater good of our transcribing work and I am not doing it out of pride I cannot see any harm in it. Yes, Brother Rene is still here, though a fall this spring has left him with a limp. Though his leg is injured his mind has suffered no such impediment, and he goes around the scriptorium with a cane criticizing. Brother Jerome sends his greetings, and begs that you consider sending seeds in your next letter. He would love to plant something to remember you by. Brother Walter's grave looks very pretty now that Jerome has planted the violets over it; it was good of you to remember his favorite flower. In a month it will be your birthday, and you will be eighteen…_

However much Jerusalem changed, Gregory's letters always stayed the same, always full of advice and good humor and understanding. That was what she loved about them. Gregory never knew all the disasters and inconveniences that took place in her life, only that she was still alive and writing to him. Every six months, almost as regular as the seasons, there was a new letter, carried from Vinceaux to Jerusalem by a merchant's caravan, which traveled twice a year. It was the only link to home she had as even more birthdays passed.

_Dear, best beloved Aude- the day I am writing this letter is your birthday!_ _I cannot believe that you are nineteen now, Aude, and still not yet married. But the King's Poet must retain her secrets some way, and Reginald joked to me (rather crassly) when he was last here that it was probably because you were still a virgin that you wrote so well. I think that's none of his business, as he's not our father, but I didn't want to have that discussion with him. We hear some of your poetry here in Vinceaux, and Mother wishes me to tell you that she enjoys so much to hear it._

He wrote to tell her how much he was pleased with her studies, and her religious life.

_I am pleased to hear you have spiritual guidance besides my letters in the Holy City; this Brother John of the Knights of Hospital sounds like a very nice fellow. If Abbot John ever gives me the leave, I will come and visit and hopefully see many of these people you introduce me to in your letters. I should also like very much to meet Doctor William, without whom these letters would not be possible._

Steady Gregory. She was so glad to have him for a brother. Aude set aside the latest letter and sighed. William, her beloved tutor, had been dead for several months now. Oh, if only Gregory could make the pilgrimage, and come to see her. How changed they both would be! Setting the letter aside in the box she reserved for such things, she gathered her robes about her and went to attend the King and Sybilla.

So much had changed in four years – she was twenty now, and Sybilla twenty-five, mischievous as ever. She'd come a long way from the scared little girl who'd come here with one man-at-arms and scarcely enough coins to last them a week. Now she was the Court Poet; she had property out in the desert, and rents to sustain her in Jerusalem. She was a fixture of the King's household, a woman who commanded respect because she had the King's ear. But for how much longer? She asked herself. Four years had changed Baldwin considerably too. When she had first come here he had at least conducted court regularly, and come out for some court functions. Now he barely left his rooms at all, unable to walk for long distances or ride anywhere. And his sight, too, was failing him – more and more often it was not stories that Audemande read to her king but court briefs and tax dockets, things that he had once been perfectly capable of handling on his own.

_What becomes of us?_ Aude asked herself. _When Baldwin is dead, what shall we do? What shall __**I**__ do?_

"My lady, the King awaits you," A servant said, opening the door to Baldwin's chambers for her. Aude nodded and went inside. Near death or not, a king is still a king.

* * *

In case you didn't pick up on it, there's a transition of about three years in this chapter. It was a necessary evil. The story needed to move through a large space to catch up to the movie.

Reviews, please? And in case you didn't know, I have a new story "The Final Checkmate" in the KoH category. You should check it out -- I think it's pretty awesome.


	10. Chapter 10

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Ten : Battles No One Will Remember

* * *

_It was brought up last chapter that Aude seems much older than twenty, and I'd like my readers to remember that a 12th century twenty is much, much older than a 21st century twenty. By that age, most women had married once (possibly twice, depending on how rich they were) and probably had children. Much more was expected from someone at that age, which is why Aude seems much older to some._

* * *

"Our favored poet Aude of Vinceaux

has been in our fair city near five years

and growing old has only made her strong;

She is the sweetest dove in Christendom.

No court in Europe has another like her,

Jerusalem's fair pearl, the singer-poet."

What do you think of it so far?" Sybilla asked her audience, consisting of her brother and the subject of the poem, Aude of Vinceaux herself.

"I think Sybilla ought to add another verse, Aude," Baldwin said, looking at his Court Poet. It seemed so long since Aude had been the frightened little girl who had nearly refused to read to her king; now Baldwin seemed as close to her as her own brother. He joked with her, and laughed with her – just as a brother would. And she, like a little sister, joked and laughed with him.

"I think Sybilla ought to add something about how the great Aude, while fabled for her skill with words, is also fabled for her lack of husbands," Aude added pertly, making her king and his sister laugh.

"You've yet to ask me for one, Little Dove!" Baldwin reminded her. That was another thing that never changed; though she'd grown some, she was still the Little Dove, though now not so quiet or demure as when the name was first given to her.

"That's very true, my king," Aude admitted.

"Perhaps we should send her to a monastery, brother, and commit her voice to God," Sybilla suggested, teasing.

"Yes, like Hildegarde of Bingen," Baldwin added.

"Hildegarde of Bingen was nearly excommunicated, my king," Aude reminded Baldwin. "She also had visions from God, which sadly I am lacking."

"Yes, there is that," Baldwin said, laughing. There was an odd rattling in his voice now, which turned into a cough, and both Sybilla and Aude rose from their chairs, concerned.

"I'll leave you now, my lord. You are unwell," Aude announced.

"You'll do no such thing!" Baldwin exclaimed, coughing more. He found his breath again and continued. "You've only just arrived. It's just a little excess humor in the chest; it's gone now. You two are worse than William was! Stay with me a while, Aude. Tiberias is busy trying Templars and Godfrey's gone to France. There's no one to talk to."

"Guy's in France now as well, my brother," Sybilla added. "There's nothing to complain about to Godfrey, even if he were here."

"Getting more knights to bloody the sands, that's what Guy's doing," Baldwin said darkly. "My brother in law gives me plenty to complain about. Now leave my poet and me in peace. We've work to do and business to discuss."

"You and your poems," Sybilla said with a smile, shaking her head. "At least it keeps you occupied."

After five years Aude had finally begun work on something more serious than simple court romances; the tale of Count Roland, the Lord of the Breton Marshes, who fought for Charlemange. It was a common enough tale, but Baldwin had pointed out to her that it had not yet been written down, so Aude was committing it to paper, and Baldwin was revising it: or trying to, at least.

"I've read the draft of Roland that you left me," Baldwin said once his sister had left.

"Between reading court briefings, tax lists and designing your new fortifications? Really, my lord, do you sleep?" Aude asked good-humoredly.

"Only when I cannot read," Baldwin quipped. Aude smiled. "It's very good so far. However, I have one problem."

Aude rolled her eyes. "It is never only one problem, my king."

"Why must you vilify Marsilla? You've met the Muslims; they're a good, godly people, not the pagan idol worshippers you make them out to be. Like here- you say Marsilla worships Mohammed and Apollo! That's nonsense, Aude, and you know it. Any scholar would be ashamed to write this!"

"And still many do, my lord," Aude soothed. "Every poem must have a villain. You know this! Besides, Heraclitus told me he would have Rome excommunicate me if I wrote sympathetically of them."

"Well, we cannot have your mortal soul in peril – who would sing to me and Saint Peter when I have died?" Baldwin asked. Aude chuckled; in four years, the king's humor had gotten more macabre. He joked more about his own death now than he ever had before. "But must it be the Muslims? Charles fought the Basques in Roncevalles. Eighard tells us so in De Carolus Magnus."

"Charles fought the Muslims in Spain as well, my king, and Roncevalles is near Spain. It makes more sense to make them the villains because no one hearing this poem will know who the Basques are. The Muslims, on the other hand, everyone will know. It is a necessary evil."

"Oh, very well. Now read it to me, Aude. I want to hear it aloud."

"From the beginning?" Aude clarified.

"Yes, always from the beginning," Baldwin said, sitting back in his chair and resting his eyes. Aude ignored the mottling creeping into his eyelids with a sad smile and looked down at her draft to refresh her memory.

"Charles the King, our mighty Emperor  
has been in Spain for all of seven years,  
has won that haughty land down to the sea.  
there is no castle standing that opposes him,  
no town nor wall just waiting to be crushed,  
except at Saragossa, the mountain kingdom,  
where Saracen Marsilla reigns as king.  
He is a heathen, and does not love God –  
instead he serves Mohommed and Apollo.  
No matter what he does, his ruin will come…

"And you end it there, with Charles' retribution against Marsilla and his barons?" Baldwin asked.

"Should it end elsewhere?" Aude asked.

"No, it should end after Charles has returned home, and tried Ganelon, and told Roland's fiancée that he is dead," Baldwin said. "She should know of it. Justice must be done in the Frankish camp."

"I hadn't thought to write that out, my lord," Aude admitted.

Baldwin wasn't listening to her excuses, however; he was thinking about something. "Aude, wasn't that always her name? Olivier's sister—the fiancée. Is that why you're afraid to write it, Aude? You don't wish to tell the story of Aude the Beautiful, who died when she heard that Count Roland was also dead?" Baldwin ribbed a little.

"I've no wish to use my own name for her, my king," Aude said frankly. "I think she's silly, dropping dead because Roland's a fool and didn't use the Oliphant. She might have found another. Love comes from God, and can be renewed if it is his will. But I don't decide what's good for poetry. Battles, they make good stories. But the story of love is what people wish to hear – and that is always the same."

"Are you hinting at something, Aude?" Baldwin asked, sitting up and studying her. Aude leaned forward in her chair, gazing at her king with her best truth-filled look.

"Five years I've been your poet, my king, and your friend. And in that time I've done all that you asked of me. Now let me do something for you, for myself. Let me write Montgisard for you."

"Bah, that can wait. A tale like Roland's is the making of a poet, and your romances, those keep your name on the lips of the people. Finish this first. These histories of battles no one can remember, no one will read those, but heroes…they will survive," Baldwin said decidedly, nodding in agreement with himself.

"Roland is a tale I know. I won't always have the luxury of having first person accounts of Montgisard."

Baldwin looked hesitant, and then asked, cautiously, "How would you begin such a tale? I'm not a hero, like Roland, or a great lover, like your other leading men."

"I would begin by saying that you were a great man who did great things against great odds," Aude said staunchly.

"And what would you say of Saladin?" Baldwin asked with a thin sheen of interest on his voice.

"I would say that he was also a great man who did great things, and that you only fought each other because you both thought that the cause was just."

"And Heraclitus? Won't he excommunicate you for saying that?" Baldwin asked, amused.

"Hopefully he'll be deaf and dumb when I finish it," Aude said optimistically. "Or God will be feeling particularly merciful and he'll be dead," she added brightly.

Baldwin laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, very well. Write about Montgisard. But I want you to finish Roland first; then you can tell the world about me. I heard about another one of your romance tales today from Sybilla, while we were waiting for you. The newest one—Godeleve and Joscelin, isn't it?"

"That's the newest," Audemande confirmed.

"She said you described Joscelin in detail—how did she say it went? Hair like the sea, so dark and full of waves, and eyes of stormy gray, that when Godeleve looked at him her heart capsized, and her mind scattered in the wind," the King quoted.

"It sounds so silly when you say it," Aude accused. "I suppose I should write better things for you."

"You do, Aude – You're writing me Roland! It's not that I do not enjoy hearing them, Aude. Your poetry consoles me. It shows me life outside the walls, as I have always asked you to show me. But tell me –this Joscelin knight of yours, is he was you wish for in a husband?"

Aude laughed anxiously. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Oh, a very fair one, I should hope," Baldwin said. "You're getting older, you know, Aude, and as my ward, I'm charged with finding a husband for you. I've done a pretty poor job so far, and as you yourself said, you're fabled for not having one. You've yet to recommend, so I think that Sybilla and I must begin searching them out. You could have anyone in the kingdom, and don't think there haven't been inquiries. As my ward, you've got an asking price – no one lower than a count, at least. But I want to make you happy, Aude. There's no great tract of land I need to worry about allying, only you. Do you favor anyone?"

"Not really. I haven't time, apart from work and study. And it is hard to measure up to heroes," Aude admitted. "None of your knights come close."

Baldwin nodded. "Then perhaps I will keep you to myself," he said with a chuckle, and Aude smiled, nodding and hiding her anxiety away in her heart. "I think that that is all for today, Little Dove. Leave your king in peace now and go attend my sister? See that she is well; Guy's absence may be unnerving her a little."

* * *

"What did you and Baldwin talk about today after your work? I know he is interested in what you do as well as what you write," Sybilla said as they sat down for a rest before dinner began.

"We talked of trivial things. The price of figs, what I think of these new men from Aquitaine," Aude said dismissively. "Nothing important, at any rate."

"Well, he needs that. Tiberias has not all the time in the world, and with Godfrey gone and William dead, the list of his companions grows thin," Sybilla said. "I have my children to take care of and Guy to clean up after, and you are always there for him."

"It is no chore," Aude began, but Sybilla cut him off.

"I thank you for being a dear friend to him, Aude, and to me. He sees you much as a younger sister, you know."

"Like Isabella?" Aude asked, speaking of the little princess who was half sister to Baldwin and Sybilla, a product of Almaric's second marriage to Maria Comena. Only thirteen and married to Humphrey of Toron, Reynald of Chatillion's stepson, the younger sister of Baldwin was never seen at court, and even if she had lived in Jerusalem near her brother, would probably have never made the time to see him.

"Like a younger sister who cares for him and isn't repulsed by the idea of not being able to see her brother's face," Sybilla said truthfully.

"I do not think that _he_ regards me solely as a sister, Sybilla," Aude divulged carefully. Sybilla looked at her, interested in her calm, cool way. "This afternoon he asked me about Joscelin, and whether that was what I wished for in a husband. When I said no, he seemed much happier, and said that he would keep me to himself instead."

Sybilla looked at Aude, fixing her with her steady gaze. "Aude, Baldwin can never know the love you write about in your poems. He knows this, and has known it since he was a young man. But you are the one woman besides me who does not hate him for what he is, and he needs that. Why do you think he's waited so long to see you married?" she asked seriously. "It would make him happy now, to see you settled, with a husband who could protect you and love you like he does. Do not deny him that one last pleasure. If he could, I think that he would marry you. But fate and rank do not permit it."

"Rank," Aude said with a sigh. "We spoke of that, too. No less than a count may ask for me, he says."

"He wants to see you happy, as do I," Sybilla assured her. "You're twenty one – well past the time for being married. By the time I was your age, I'd married twice!"

"You are a princess, and much more of a commodity than I am. When there are a great many chickens in the market, the price is not so high." Aude philosophized. "Perhaps I will join a convent instead," she mused.

"A convent?" Sybilla asked. "Somehow I think you would not like a religious life. All that prayer – you'd have no time for writing Joscelins!"


	11. Chapter 11

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Eleven: Valdepax

* * *

--

"The end has come for Alde the beautiful  
although the king believes that she has fainted.  
The emperor feels pity for her, weeps,  
and takes her by the hands to lift her up.  
Her head has fallen down upon her shoulder;  
her body limp, it is a heavy weight for Charles to bear.  
Seeing her dead, the kings calls fourth four ladies,  
who take her lifeless corpse into their care.  
They take her to an abbey in the country,  
watch over it throughout the night till dawn,  
then bury her with grace beside an altar:  
the king provided her a great endowment." Aude read aloud, setting the paper aside and looking at her patron and guardian, who was watching her, as always, from behind his silver mask. "Well, what do you think?" she asked.

"I think you hate it," Baldwin said blandly. "You read without passion."

"You're right, I do," Aude admitted. "If it were up to me, it would be in the fire with all my other scraps."

"But I like it, and as your patron, I say it shall stay," Baldwin decided. "That's all you've finished, so far?"

"I've yet to write Ganelon's trial. I was hoping to watch Tiberias in the Haut Cour for a few days, to see how we try murderers and traitors in Jerusalem before I try and let Charles hold court," Aude said.

"That's good," Baldwin said, nodding. "That's very good. Was there something else you needed to discuss with me, Aude?"

Aude took a deep breath, as if she were telling a great secret. "I started writing Montgisard," she announced with a smile, and Baldwin rolled his eyes, sighing. "Well, don't you want to hear it?" the Court Poet asked, and Baldwin sat back in his chair.

"Begin, if you're so anxious to have me hear it."

Aude shuffled her pages and found her beginning notes.

"Baldwin the fourth, the king of all Jerusalem,  
Has held his post for only these four years.

He's just turned seventeen, still much a boy,

And yet he rules as wisely as a Charlemange.

These past four years he's fully kept the peace

No small task for a simple boy like him…"

* * *

--

Baldwin nodded as Aude finished her ending lines about how Baldwin had brought the relics of the true cross into the desert and bade the entire army bow down and pray. "It's very good so far. A few details, of course, will need to be added in, the names of great men like Odo of St. Armand and Reynald, and some of their lieutenants, but it's readable. We'll have to write the battle scene together, as you've never seen a battle, and certainly not one like Montgisard."

"But what do you think of it? Do you like it?" Aude asked expectantly.

"I do," Baldwin said with a nod, his tone leisurely in its praise.

"I think it's the best thing I've written yet," Aude confided. Baldwin chuckled.

"Time will tell, Aude. Now run along and work on Roland!" the King goaded.

"But there's things to discuss until you've time to remember the battle. If you're to be a hero in a poem, your sword will need a name. Charlemange, Roland, even Bishop Turpin, all of those men's swords had names," Aude pointed out.

"The poor thing was hardly deserving of a name, Aude, I barely drew the blade," Baldwin said with an embarrassed laugh. "My arm was too weak by then."

"You can still think of something," Aude encouraged. "Auragent, or, or… Visabel…"

"Charlemange's sword was named Joyeuse, the Joyful One. How does Valdepax sound to you?" Baldwin proposed.

"Valdepax?" Aude repeated, not sure that she had heard him right.

"Valde, greatly or greater, and pax, pacis, peace. Greatpeace. For a sword which only made war out of necessity," Baldwin explained.

"Or Basipax. Kiss of peace," Aude suggested.

"That is a terrible name for a sword," Baldwin said with a flat voice.

"I believe my lord means ironic," Aude said, looking at him with a teasing smile. Baldwin tilted his head, a sign he was considering something. After years of study, Aude had learned to read his body movements. A shoulder quirk, a hand gesture said the same things as a lifted eyebrow or a frown.

"Yes, irony. Did your Benedictine brother teach you that when he taught you your letters?" Baldwin asked.

"No, William did," Aude said with a smile. She paused. "I've never told you about my brother," she realized, looking at Baldwin curiously.

"In four years, how much you forget to tell me, my little dove. Sybilla did. Gregory, the monk. He's older than you by a year, and taught you Latin. Do you really write him every season?"

"Yes," Aude admitted, wondering where this was going. Baldwin rose from his chair and walked gingerly over to the window, glancing out through the gauzy curtains.

"What a dutiful sister you are. If only mine were so devoted."

Aude shifted in her seat. "My lord's situation is much different," she ventured, choosing her words carefully.

"No, they are much the same. Like your brother, I too am far away from my sisters, but not physically far. I am…a ghost of what I used to be. Isabella won't even come to my city, and even Sybilla finds it hard to look at me. You see she finds it hard to stay here – she's leaving more on pretexts now. They despise me. And who could blame them? I am not a very good brother," he mused sadly.

"You are a king," Aude said. "What do they expect of you?"

"More than I can give," Baldwin said ruefully. "I was young once, and fair to look upon – yes, me, Baldwin, your king."

"I can imagine it, my lord," Aude said truthfully.

"But you did not _know_ it. You, you look on me without sympathy, without this pity that everyone else has lingering in their eyes, because you didn't know me then. You haven't seen how far I've fallen. Poor Baldwin, the leper, who won't see forty. Even Tiberias, the old lion, looks at me with a hidden tear in his eyes. Don't you start pitying me now as well. I enjoy the hiatus from it. Let us finish with this."

There was a silence, and Aude looked at her parchment before saying, as if the last bit of dialogue had never occurred, "Valdepax, then?"

"Valdepax," Baldwin said definitively.

--

"Tiberias, I've been sent by Baldwin to tell you must eat dinner," Aude said, the servant bearing the meal tray coming up behind her into the Lord Marshall's rooms.

"Nonsense, I'm fine! Someone has to watch Jerusalem and keep an eye on these Templars," Raymond said stodgily. Aude put her hand down in the middle of Tiberias' papers and, with a cunning smile, plucked the pen out of his hand, placing it back in the inkpot.

"You'll eat now, and converse with me, and then when you are refreshed, you'll go back to your work a more productive man. Now come away from that desk and dine with me," Aude commanded, pulling out a chair.

"You've been spending too much time with Sybilla, Little Dove. You're a little too independent for some," Tiberias groused.

"Only to keep you healthy, my lord," Aude said with a winning smile, sitting down at a smaller table and gesturing for the servant to put down the tray and draw the wine. "The king and I had an interesting conversation the other day," Aude said to the Count of Tripoli as they sat down to their midday meal.

"I'm told you and the king have many interesting conversations these days, that you're writing a poem about Montgisard," Tiberias began, musing over the selection on the tray and pulling a few things towards him.

"Should I be including you, my lord? You sound hurt."

"Me? No, in 1177 I was still to find out where my power laid after William of Montferrat died and I might have inherited the throne if Baldwin also went the way of God," the older man said, picking at the cold pie they had for their repast, a leftover from dinner the night before. "We're cousins – did you know that? Through my mother, Hodierna – his father's sister. I'm third in line for the throne, after the little Baldwin and Sybilla. That's why Guy doesn't trust me," Tiberias said, taking a long draw from his goblet. "Yes, Montgisard was a close thing. Saladin had attacked at Ascalon and was continuing north. Baldwin rode out with the head of the Templars, Odo de St. Armand, and with Reynald of Chatillion, believe it or not. God's thumbs, that was a long time ago," Raymond realized. "Those were simpler days, before Reynald started this piracy against Saladin and Guy hadn't even married Sybilla, much less joined the Templars," the Prince of Galilee said with a tired tone. "But you said he spoke to you of something else," Tiberias redirected, cutting into the pie and taking a hunk of meat on the end of his knife.

"No, we spoke about sisters, and the duties of family, more or less," Aude said, taking a bite of her own pie and chewing. "He talked of how much he's changed, and how much people pity him. I've never heard him say such things before."

"You're making him recount the days of his youth when his disease was not yet as bad as it is now," Tibieras said. "I'm sure there's some old hatred there, and shame about his condition. It's opened up old wounds."

"What was he like when he was younger, Tiberias?" Aude wondered aloud.

"Before the leprosy?" Tiberias asked, considering this. "He …was a boy, like any other. He laughed, ran, played in the dirt, and dreamed of being a great king like his father. If there is one sure way to slowly kill a man, Aude, it is to dash his dream and then have him continue on the path that would have taken him there anyway. That is why this poem is so important, Little Dove."

"I thought you said it was because of the poem that he was saying these things," Aude reminded him.

"You need to continue to remind him that there was a time when he was great, and worth something," Tiberias said, tucking into his pie. "And that people will remember that," he added in a heavy voice.

--

Have I mentioned recently that Tiberias is so much fun to write? Because he is. If you're here from Kingbaldwin over at livejournal, please feel free to leave a review here! There's a handy little button right in the corner!


	12. Chapter 12

Song of a Peacebringer -- Chapter Twelve: News from Home

I have to warn you, dear readers -- this chapter is exceptionally long.

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The next day there was no talk of fallen lives or wayward sisters, and work continued on apace, Baldwin writing out his tireless reports and pausing, every so often, to relate some nuance of the battle for Aude to take down. Baldwin was in the middle of recounting the great charge they had taken up against the Saracen line at Montgisard when the news from Messina came.

"My lord," Baldwin's steward interrupted as Baldwin took a pause to recover his breath. "Brother John Lazarene of the Knights of the Hospital is here to see you with news lately arrived from Messina, along with himself."

"Does he bring news of Godfrey? Show him in," Baldwin said, anxious. "How long since Godfrey left, Aude?"

"He departed Jaffa in … spring of last year, my king," Aude recalled. "In March, before Easter."

"He should have been home by now, _with_ Brother John. That's nearly thirteen months – it shouldn't have taken him that long." Baldwin said. "Here is the man."

The Hospitalier came in, bowing low to the king as was his custom, his dark robe heavy on his frame. Normally a solemn man, today he seemed even more withdrawn and pensive.

"My lord, before you welcome me, let me have this news out of my mouth. Baron Godfrey is dead," Brother John said sparely, without introduction or greeting. The room was silent.

"Dead?" Baldwin repeated, taken aback. "How?"

"He took an arrow to the ribs in France. It broke the bone, and festered. It was in France, fighting for Balian. His son," Brother John explained.

Baldwin nodded, taking all of this in. "It was how he would have liked to go. I will remember him in my prayers tonight." He paused. "And the son? Where is this Balian now? Why have you not brought him with?"

Brother John looked plainly at the king, hiding nothing in his eyes. "His ship did not reach Jaffa, my lord. They are shipwrecked in the north, and his body cannot be found. I left after his party departed Messina, and missed the storm," the knight said sadly, as if he regretted making that decision.

"Perhaps it is God's will," Baldwin said sadly, looking down at his hands. There seemed to be nothing else left to say.

"I will leave you to mourn in peace, my lord," Aude said, rising from her chair and curtseying. "Such news needs time alone."

"Thank you, Aude. We will continue tomorrow. I thank you, Brother Hospitalier, for bringing me this news," Baldwin said, a little distracted. Aude nodded and left with Brother John, closing the door to Baldwin's room behind her.

"My lady Aude, I have good news for you," the Hospitalier said quietly once they were out of earshot of the Kings' chambers. "Lord Guy will arrive in a few weeks time; he has fairer weather, and was only just behind us, resupplying. He brings with him someone of great importance to you. But he would not wish for me to say more than that," he added with a little smile.

"A surprise?" Aude asked. The knight nodded. "Who would come to see me here? Surely not someone from France. It's been four years!"

Brother John smiled wider. "Someone who loves you very much. I spoke to him in Messina. He was glad to know that you are well."

"Very well, Brother John, if you will not tell me, I will wait," Aude said grudgingly. "I am glad to see you home, and I am sorry for Godfrey's death. He was a good friend to me."

"To me as well," Brother John said sadly. "He will be missed. But we must not dwell with the dead. He is buried, and Jerusalem has not been buried with him. Do not speak long of it to Baldwin; he needs to remember he has a kingdom to run."

Aude nodded, setting off for her own rooms. Who was this visitor? A brother? Surely not! Reginald and Anselm would be busy with Vinceaux, and Gregory wouldn't leave the Abbey. Her father was out, and as for cousins, none of them would make a pilgrimage. _What man would want to see her? Perhaps Father's sent Hugo back_, Aude thought miserably. _Or worse yet, Guy's found a husband for me. Though why he'd do that, I've no idea._

Guy arrived home the next week with all the pomp and circumstance reasonably due a consort to the Princess of Jerusalem, but thirteen months on the road had made him even less amiable than usual, and he dismissed his men with a short gesture of his hand, going over to his wife and greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. Sybilla gave him back only the barest of kisses. "Did you miss me?" Aude heard the Count of Ascalon ask his wife softly.

"Does a cat miss being drowned, my lord?" Sybilla replied silkily, her voice barely audible and her smile a sickly sort of sweet. Guy frowned and turned away, looking at Aude.

"Lady Audemande, I have brought a visitor for you," He said in that perpetually bored tone, gesturing behind him and stepping aside. The man who had come forward tipped his hood back, but the bearded face was unfamiliar to Aude, though he wore the brown tunic and scapular of a Benedictine. She cocked her head to study the man, who came forward a few more steps, squinting himself.

"Audemande?" He asked, and Aude recognized the voice.

"…Gregory?" she asked, her face breaking into a smile.

The man smiled widely and opened up his arms. "Sister!"

Aude ran to her brother's arms, letting him pick her up and laugh. "I wouldn't have recognized you with that beard!" the poet exclaimed, kissing both of her brother's cheeks.

"I didn't recognize you at all – I thought Guy was lying to me when he said you were here waiting for me. Benedict's beard, you're tall!" Gregory said, putting her back down on the ground and looking at her.

"You're just getting short," Aude remarked back.

"Long of tongue, too, I see. You've grown so much, in four years," Gregory repeated, marveling.

"Five, or near to it," Aude corrected.

"Surely it's not been so long," the Benedictine marveled.

"It has," Aude admitted.

"I am sorry for not writing to warn you. There wasn't time! One day Guy was there, and then I was packing my bag and saying good bye to the Abbey! I'm looking forward to hearing some of your poems. They tell us in France that hearing them secondhand isn't quite as good as hearing them from the Dove's lips herself!"

"Do they? Well, you'll hear me recite some of them, then. They're very silly stuff," Aude assured him.

"They're really very good, Aude, when you look past the romance. Full of ideals and morals to uphold. You've learned more than I could ever teach you," Gregory said, his face so proud of his little sister.

"But I only learned it because you taught me my letters first, brother," Aude teased, tweaking his nose.

"They teach you to debate here, too? This William of Tyre must be some man. I told Brother Rene he was your tutor and his eyes bugged out," Gregory said, following her inside.

"He was, a great theologian, and archbishop of Tyre. And he is with God now, debating with the angels," Aude said, her smile leaving her face. _That's two of my friends dead now,_ she thought to herself. _And soon there will be a third, if Baldwin…_

"Oh, Aude, I'm sorry," Gregory said, looking at her melancholy face. "When—"

"In January. It was not his time to go, though; he was not finished with his book. If he had chosen, it would have been later," Aude said, nodding. William's death was somewhat suspicious – when Aude had last seen her tutor he'd been fairly healthy. Even in Jerusalem, aged clerics didn't drop dead overnight except when poison was involved. "And I have had news that another friend of mine has died. Godfrey of Ibelin."

Gregory turned to look at her. "You knew him?" He asked. "We met his party on the road. With a knight of the hospital, and another, younger man."

"That was Brother John," Aude said. Gregory looked at her, amazed.

"The Hosptialier? That was the Brother John you spoke so much about?"

" Isn't he wonderful? The other man was Godfrey's son… Balian, I think his name is. His illegitimate son," she added. Gregory nodded. " He was a great man here, Godfrey of Ibelin. Did you speak to him?"

"A little while, while he was in the hospital in Messina. I told him I was your brother, and that I was going to meet you in Jerusalem. He was happy for you, and pleased to know me."

Aude took a breath and looked at her brother. "Did he die in pain?" she asked.

"I do not know, sister," Gregory said truthfully; they had reached Aude's door. "He was at peace, though, and that is good."

"It is more than he would have had here," Aude said, showing her brother inside.

Gregory was amazed as his little sister showed him room upon room in the palace, the libraries, courtyards, gardens with their cleverly tiled fountains that supplied water to even the innermost rooms. He loved Aude's little study and remained quiet and watchful as she shared with him four years worth of memories in all of her favorite places.

"But there's one more person you need to meet," Aude said, knocking upon a great wooden door, paneled to blend in to the wall behind it. The door was opened to her, and she lead her brother inside.

"What is this place?" Gregory asked her, his voice a whisper, looking at the censers and the white drapes shielding the sun.

"Now I want you to meet one of my best companions in all the world," Aude said. "Do you know how to bow?"

"Bow? Aude, you're not going to introduce me to the king!" Gregory asked in a whisper, alarmed.

Audemande shook her head with a smile and dragged him by the arm further into the room, making her curtsey for the man who sat behind his desk, dutifully filling out papers. He held up a hand.

"One moment, Aude, and then I have all the time in the world for you. I had not been as productive as I hoped to be yesterday," he said, finishing two or three more signatures and seals before he set his pen down and turned towards them. Gregory's hand grew tighter in her own, and Aude remembered that the silver face had unnerved her before, too. "So this is the famous brother Gregory, who taught my poet her letters when she was a little girl. I am glad to meet you," Baldwin said, laying his good hand over his heart in a gesture of peace.

"The pleasure is all mine in meeting the king of Outremer," Gregory said, his voice steady.

"You flatter me. I was not what you anticipated from your sister's letters," Baldwin accused. "But knowing your sister, she's probably introduced you to a saint or a second Charlemange, so I'm not surprised at all. Now come, sit. Tell Aude all the news from Vinceaux and pretend I am not here. I want to hear all about this Poitevin homeland of yours."

Gregory looked a little overwhelmed, but he sat down in the chair Aude pointed out to him and collected his thoughts, wringing his hands as was his habit when he was nervous.

"Well, Reginald – our older brother-- is married now, to a girl from Lusignan, one of Hugh's nieces or something. I didn't get a good sense of it. Jourdainette, I think her name is. A nice girl, if a little…" Gregory glanced at the king and then at Aude, trying to decide what he should say.

"Go on, say it, Gregory. God never smote down a man for being honest," Aude said plainly.

"Simple," Gregory said diplomatically. Aude nodded.

"I'm sure Reginald wouldn't have her any other way. And they're happy?" Aude inquired.

"Expecting, Mother thinks," Gregory said with a smile. "Or so she said the last time she visited the Abbey. You'll be an aunt soon, Aude!"

"A lot of good I will do the child," Aude said. "And how is Mother?"

"Mother and Anselm are doing well, and Father sends his love."

"How tall is our baby brother now? When I left, he was only twelve and up to my shoulder," Aude recalled with a wispy smile, calling to mind the gangly youth who had pretended not to care when she left and still managed to write, in a postscript to one of Gregory's letters in very bad script, that he missed her very much.

"Well, now he's seventeen and tall as a tree," Gregory said. "Tall enough to beat Reginald in a practice ring, at any rate. They're very close now – Reginald expects Lord Hugh will make Anselm a knight in a year or two."

"That's good. And the abbey? Tell me about your _other _brothers," Aude asked with a smile.

"The Abbey's doing well. Abbot John's still there, and many of the others. Walter's died, but that you know, and Brother Rene was not doing well either, when I left. They're thinking of giving me his position when I return."

"Gregory, that's wonderful. Gregory would be in charge of the whole scriptorium," Aude said. Baldwin nodded.

"And from along the pilgrim road? What news there?" he prompted, a personal aside. Gregory thought hard on this, racking his memory for news.

"The pope's issued a new Bull concerning heretics…Oh, Eleanor's son Geoffrey has a daughter, also named Eleanor. The Plantagenet sons are fighting again in England over who'll inherit Aquitaine, but I doubt that will affect you here at all, King."

Baldwin nodded. Some of the news was old, some new, but even Aude could tell you that all news was useful news, especially to a king who has a hard time seeing the light of day.

"Has your sister told you how she's changed since she first came here, Brother Gregory?" he asked, glancing at Aude with a sort of pleased look in his eyes, the benevolent older brother sharing his sister with another.

"I see that she's grown taller, and a little more learned. And of course, my lord, she is your Poet, too," the monk added for the benefit of Baldwin.

"She didn't tell you she's a titled lady, with land and rents to her name, did she?" Baldwin said proudly.

Gregory turned to look at Aude, who was smiling evasively. "She mentioned no such thing, my lord."

"It is not so much land," Aude clarified. "Only a few farms, and a village, with a great house for my use that sits accumulating dust for much of the year. So they call me Lady of Arcenet."

"It's more than you would have had if you'd stayed at home," Gregory said. "Father would be proud, if he knew."

"My lord," the steward interrupted their conversation, knocking at the door. "There is a messenger here from Saladin. He is with Lord Tiberias now."

"Saladin?" Baldwin asked. "What's Reynald done now?"

"The sultan?" Gregory asked, confused, watching the King stand up, his equerry attending him, fixing his tunic.

"Someone has breached the peace, otherwise there would be no messenger," Aude explained, ushering her brother from the room, knowing Baldwin would want to be alone a little while. "Come, we'll go to the Haut Cour to see Tiberias work."

The Haut Cour was abuzz around the lone figure of the Sultan Saladin's emissary, a very princely looking man with tawny colored skin and dark hair, standing in the middle of the court opposite the king's dais. His own knights were fanned out behind him, wearing scabbards that carried no swords, a sign that they came in peace. Baldwin entered, and the room fell silent as the King sat down.

"My lord King, the Sultan of Egypt and Syria, Lord of Damascus and servant of Allah, Salah Al- Din, gives you greeting and peace," the emissary began, bowing low, his arms open as a sign that he did not come in war.

"And who has the Sultan sent to bring me these greetings, that I may know his name and his quality?" Baldwin asked.

"General Nasir Imad-Al-Din al Isfahani, my lord king, chancellor and advisor of the Sultan," the man announced. Another whisper ran through the court.

"Is he a great man?" Gregory asked Aude quietly, leaning in to whisper to her.

"A very great man – he is of Saladin's most trusted men," Aude said. "His court biographer, too, and a very good poet."

"A man much like yourself, then," Gregory said with a smile, nudging his sister a little. Aude smiled in a mild way and nodded, watching the ages-old diplomatic dance with a practiced eye. She'd seen it enough times to almost dance the steps herself.

"Your quality is known to us, General. What grievance does the Sultan wish to bring to my attention?" Baldwin asked.

"My servant and I rode in the desert this week past and came across a man at an oasis not so far from here. This man killed the servant who rode with me, one of my cavaliers- Mahmud Al-Fiesz. He was a lord of Syria, and well respected by the Sultan, being a kinsman."

"And who was this man who killed your servant?" Baldwin asked, his voice steady, trying not to show the fear that Aude knew was churning inside his mind. Who'd been so bold as to break the peace with Saladin? It wouldn't have been Reynald – a single man in the desert wasn't his style.

"He said he was the Baron of Ibelin," Nasir pronounced, and a ripple of whispering went through the court.

"The Baron of Ibelin is dead," Tiberias told the Egyptian lord. "News of his death has just reached us."

"That is what this man said. He told my servant he was the new Baron of Ibelin, and bore the sword that I saw the Baron wear. A longsword, in your Norman style, with a ruby in the hilt."

"That is Godfrey's sword," Tiberias pronounced. Brother John approached the dais, bowing and then, loud enough for the whole court to hear, asking the Marshall a question.

"My lord, could not the general describe the man in question? I think that I may know him."

Tiberias looked at the Sultan's emissary, who thought about this for a moment. "A man about my height, and dark-haired. His eyes were also dark. He had tanned skin, as of a traveler among your people, and a beard. He spoke the Frankish tongue, and did not know Arabic."

"I think he speaks of Balian of Ibelin, my lord," Brother John pronounced. "Godfrey's son, and heir."

"Why does Saladin bring word of this to Jerusalem, my Lord Nasir?" Baldwin asked, ignoring this news of the phantom son of Godfrey for the moment.

"The Sultan Salah Al- Din wishes the King of Jerusalem to know that this fight did not break the peace," the emissary said. "I have explained to his highness what occurred, and he has agreed with me that there was cause given, and warning also."

"And over what did they fight, my lord Nasir?" Baldwin inquired.

The emissary smiled. "A horse, my lord, and nothing more."

"Kingdoms have been given or lost for less," Tiberias said wryly.

"Where did you leave Balian of Ibelin, my lord Nasir?" Baldwin asked, moving on to more important matters. "Out in the desert where you fought?"

"No, my lord," the general said, amused. "In Jerusalem. I guided him here, in payment for not killing me as well. The details, my lord, are unimportant," he added dismissively as he watched Tiberias' face, which was a little more confused than usual.

"So he is in the city?" Baldwin asked, sitting forward a little.

"When I left him, my lord," Nasir affirmed. "That was some days ago. Where he is now is known only to God."

"Tell your lord the Sultan that the King of Jerusalem thanks him for his mercy on this matter, and his expediency in bringing it to our attention. You also have our thanks, General, for helping keep this peace." Baldwin said. Nasir nodded, bowing again.

"Peace is the will of God, I think, my lord King, and thus the business of all men. Farewell," the general said, taking his leave of the court through the wide berth the knights gave him and his company.

"We will send someone to Ibelin's house to tell his men to look for this Balian. Brother John of the Hospital," Baldwin said, and the black-robed knight stepped forward, bowing low. "You know the man, and will take the news to his men. Wait for him in his house, and tell him to attend me when he has settled." He rose from the chair, and Tiberias was there immediately to help him down as the rest of the knights knelt in the courtyard. Aude and Gregory stepped by to let them pass.

"Come, we'll tell Sybilla. Baldwin will be tired, and will wish to rest the remainder of the day," Aude predicted, pulling her brother along to her rooms.

"The servants tell me that the General Nasir has just been here, with news from Saladin!" Sybilla exclaimed. "Have you been to the court?"

"We were with your brother when he was summoned, and heard all; Godfrey's son has been found," Aude divulged. Sybilla looked surprised.

"Is this true?"

"He killed a lord of Syria, out in the desert, a servant of General Nasir's; Saladin sent word that this fight did not breach the peace, and that there would be no retaliation."

"That is welcome news, both for the peace and for this son of Godfrey's. What is his name?"

"Balian," Aude remembered. "Nasir said that he left him in Jerusalem, and Brother John, of the Knights of the Hospital, has been sent to Godfrey's home in town to warn his men to look out for him, should he be lost in the city."

"I see," Sybilla said. "So much in one day!" she marveled, sitting back down into her cushions.

Aude smiled. "And now I will add one thing more. My lady, let me introduce you to _my_ brother, Gregory of Vinceaux."

"This is Gregory, the Benedictine brother. Forgive me that we have not met before now. Today has been a day full of surprises."

"You are more beautiful than even Aude says, Princess," Gregory said, kissing Sybilla's hand tentatively.

"Careful, or you may break a vow, Gregory of Vinceaux," Sybilla teased, though Aude could see the compliment was not lost on her. "Aude's spoken often of you, and well."

"Hopefully I can live up to what she has exaggerated in me," Gregory said with a smile, causing Sybilla to laugh.

"I see you're very much like your sister, Brother Gregory. I have a feeling you'll do well here. You will be staying with us?" the Princess of Jerusalem asked.

"For a year, at least, and then I'm to return to my Abbey. An extended pilgrimage, that's what my abbot called it. I'll study, and see the holy places, and then go home. Sending reports, of course, to be read aloud to the other monks."

"We will make sure a room is prepared for you," Sybilla said. "I will leave you and your sister in peace, Gregory of Vinceaux. I'm sure you have much to talk about," she said, smiling and accepting Gregory's bow as she left.

"She seems very spirited," Gregory said plainly after Sybilla had gone from the room.

"She is. And a very good friend to me, as I hope I am a good friend to her," Aude confided.

"I find it hard to believe that Guy is married to her; he's very dour, for a man of Poitou," Gregory said. "At least, he was while we were on the road."

"He's like that all the time-- Everyone here says that," Aude remarked. "So, what else do you bring from home, Gregory?"

"I've told you all my news, really and truly," Gregory said. "Aude," He began, and his voice told his sister that what he was about to say was something he really didn't wish to discuss, "What exactly is your standing with the king?"

"I am his Court Poet, and a member of his retinue. His friend, I suppose you might say," Aude began, trying to think of the appropriate response. Friend didn't seem to quite encapsulate what she was for Baldwin – confidante, sounding-board, councilor. "Beyond the boundaries of most women," Tiberias probably would have said in his grudgingly grateful tone. And that was true – she had no space for being a gossipy female. There were more important uses of her time than that—Sybilla had taught her well the many uses of a woman's mind.

"It's clear he thinks of you as more than that. Monk or not, a man can tell when another man likes his sister," Gregory observed seriously.

I know," Aude said ruefully. "And it pains me to know, because I don't return his affection that way, Gregory."

"None of it?" Gregory asked. "Rumors that start about that sort of thing always have a root in fact."

"I love him like a brother, Gregory! He reminds me of you!" Aude defended.

"Of me?" Gregory asked, surprised.

"Yes, you," his sister repeated. "Very patient, and scholarly. And monastic, in his own way," she added.

"And what made you accept this friendship, Aude?"

"I pitied him," Aude admitted. "At first, anyway. He was twenty-one, and lonely. William of Tyre took me to read to him, and he liked it so much he summoned me again. He needed a friend he could talk to about life and benign things, after a life of nothing but politics. And I remembered what Benedict said on duty," Aude recalled. "_You must relieve the lot of the poor, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and bury the dead. Go help the troubled and console the sorrowing._I thought he was sorrowing and troubled and sick and that I should help him._"_

"Does Benedict say all that?" Gregory asked, surprised that his sister knew the Rule so well.

"In his prologue!" Aude exclaimed. "Do I know the Rule better than you do?"

"I'm sure you know a lot of things better than I do, Aude. The student has outstripped the master. You said at first you pitied Baldwin. What now?" her brother inquired

"Now…now he is my friend," Aude mused. "I admire what he does."

"And what is that? Rule a kingdom? I'd admire that in any man, leper or not," Gregory commented with a wry grin. Aude gave him a playful shove for his cheekiness.

"Suffer without complaint," Aude clarified. Gregory nodded.

"I'd admire that in any man, too."

* * *

I'm in the middle of writing a story that involves Nasir and Audemande meeting up for a chat about poetry and other matters, but it's not quite working out the way I want it to.


	13. Chapter 13

Song of a Peacebringer – Chapter Thirteen: Good Things Come From Guileless Men

* * *

Sybilla was gone most of the next day, riding in the city with her pack of greyhounds, and Aude was left in quiet to continue her translations (William had always said that in order to keep up a language one had to continue speaking it, and had, before he'd left to return to Tyre, told her in his most scholarly voice she was to translate anything for at least an hour a day even after he was gone, or he'd send angels to torment her) and then work on Roland, and Montgisard. And after translations, there was real work to be done. Writing a trial was harder than she'd thought it would be; one had to maintain Ganelon's lack of remorse for killing his stepson, but also show that he might kill Charles' champion and get away with his crimes. And of course, there was the crowd to consider, and the actions of the king.

After several nearly fruitless hours, Aude threw down her quill and decided to go for a walk. Perhaps actually being in a crowd of men would help her think about the atmosphere of Charles' court.

Today was a busy day for the Haut Cour—three Templars were being hanged after trial, and Tiberias was having a few choice words with the resident troublemaker of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, Reynald of Chatillion. The first time she'd heard of Reynald, Aude remembered, had been the first time she'd met Baldwin. Little had changed since then. Reynald's boats had been ambushing pilgrim ships along the Red Sea, filled with devout Muslims trying to make their hajj to Mecca. Now he'd branched out to ambushing pilgrim caravans in the desert, unarmed and harmless caravans.

Looking out into the courtyard, Aude saw a familiar face striding across the court – Brother John, with a man wearing Ibelin's colors close behind him, a younger man with dark hair and a beard and tanned skin from being out too long in the sun. _This must be Balian, Godfrey's son_, Aude thought to herself. _They do not look so much alike – he has a sharper face._

"Brother John, I give you greeting," Aude said, intercepting them. The Hospitalier turned and smiled, bowing.

"Ah, Lady, you certainly have the pulse of the court today."

"I see you're bringing your new friend to meet Tiberias," Aude said, glancing at the younger man, who didn't quite know what to do with himself and was now looking around, watching the people go by. "He'll be in a mood this morning- he's with Reynald now," Aude warned, holding Brother John back from the door a moment.

"We thank you for the warning," Brother John said, bowing his head. Aude bowed her head back, going into the Palace by another door and coming out in the room beyond the Marshall's office to watch the son of Godfrey and Tiberias. Baldwin would want to know, before he met the man himself, what manner of a man this Balian was.

"So it's true," Tiberias was saying. "You're your father's son. He was my friend – and I am yours."

Balian nodded, swallowing nervously. _I know how he feels_, Aude thought to herself. _I once met Tiberias this way, uninvited and scarcely announced. Let us see how the cub does against the lion once more._

"Godfrey dead," Tiberias shook his head. "It could have come at a better time," The Lord of Tripoli groused. "Come," He said, leading Balian and Brother John into his study. Aude moved again, to the secret room inside one of the walls; there were many such rooms in this palace, many of which Baldwin used on a regular basis.

"it was shouted in the streets that you killed a great lord of Syria," Tiberias explained, pouring out spiced wine for himself and Balian – Brother John seldom drank. "Saladin himself sent word that your fight did not breach the peace." He turned to look hawkishly at Balian. "What know you of Salah Al Din?" Tiberias had been a prisoner of the Muslim sultan for nearly ten years, and had a great deal of knowledge and respect for them. He knew their customs, their language, and their leader very well. If there was a stick to measure by, Raymond of Tiberias was it.

Balian racked his memory – evidently his own knowledge was not much. "That he is king of the Saracens," he said strongly. "That he surrounds this kingdom." He made no move to say more. _Green as grass when it comes to politics and what they entail,_ Aude noted. _He is certainly a man of no great schemes._

"He has two hundred thousand men in Damascus alone," Tiberias recounted. "To say that he surrounds us would be a gross understatement. He towers over us – He will win a war if he goes to war. And he's daily given cause by fanatics newly from Europe, by Templar…bastards like Reynald of Chatillion. Here in this room I keep the peace, as far as I can. But Saladin and the king between them…they would make a better world," he said, his voice almost rueful.

"Even if it lives only for a short while, Tiberias, it will still have lived," Brother John reminded hopefully. Tiberias shrugged.

"So, Balian, now of Ibelin, what did your father tell you of your…obligations here?" The Count asked, leaning back against his table. _Now we'll see what manner of man he is,_ Aude thought to herself from behind the screen, peering through the stone latticework intently.

"He said I was to be a good knight," Balian said strongly, and simply. Tiberias looked at him with surprise; he looked as though he was trying not to laugh. _He certainly is simple_, Aude said. _And without ambition, too, it seems._ He did not say to serve the king, or God, or any of the other countless lines she'd heard before in fealty oaths and ceremonies. He meant only to be a good knight. It was so much like Godfrey.

"I pray that the world, and Jerusalem, can accommodate such a…_rarity_ as a perfect knight," Tiberias said skeptically, exchanging a look with Brother John. "Have you dined?" Tiberias asked, sipping his spiced wine.

"I have not, my lord," Balian admitted.

"You will attend the King's table at dinner, then, and sit in your father's place. I will see you have refreshment before hand, and attend in style," Tiberias said. Aude backed away from the screen and stole off into the palace, going to Baldwin's rooms.

"Godfrey's son is here, my lord," she said, knocking quietly on the door. Baldwin did not look up from his work. It was a busy day for him – that was why Aude had been working on her own in the garden, and not in here, with the King. It was on days like today when he asked not to be disturbed by Aude's frequent inquiries and scratching pen. This, however, was worth disturbing over.

"So, this son of his has come to call. I trust you watched him? What did you think of him? Describe him to me, every detail."

"He's very dark, like Godfrey, but shorter, and very solemn. A common man, and simple, without ambition. He says that his duty here is merely to be a good knight." Aude said. Baldwin chuckled. "Gregory met them on the road here – he told me that he heard the son was a blacksmith, in France," she added, watching her king.

"A perfect knight," Baldwin repeated. "They say you can tell the measure of a man by his trade. He's known hard work – that's good. Is he honest?"

"He has no guile in him," the poet reported.

"Just as you did, Little Dove, when you first came from France. Good things come from guileless men."

"Until guile nets them in again," Aude added, rhyming.

Baldwin laughed. "Cheeky girl. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one that's getting older around here. Go run along and tell Tiberias I'll see the son of Godfrey. I wish to know him better. Sybilla's been to see him, too, this morning. She's told me much the same as you. Now run along to Tiberias, my messenger-pigeon poet."

Tiberias and the others had sat down to dinner already when Aude arrived in the great hall, and she waited in the shadows, listening. She tapped a passing knight, one of Tiberias' men, on the shoulder, and told him her message, but then stopped him-Sybilla and Guy had just arrived, and it would be rude to interrupt them now. Besides, Aude thought to herself, Guy will certainly have something to say on the man. "Wait until I tell you so," she told the man, holding him back in the shadows.

"So," Tiberias began, sitting back down after the royal couple had been announced, "How many knights did you find in France?"

"Fifty," Guy said casually, taking a long drink.

"They've sworn allegiance to the king?" Tiberias asked, none too cautiously.

Guy looked up at the Count of Tripoli with a bored, almost vexed expression. "Of course, Tiberias, obviously." He glanced around the table and his eyes lit on the son of Godfrey, the dark-haired knight who seemed ill at ease in his fine clothes at such a fine table. Aude noticed he had not touched a single thing on his plate. Aude saw Guy's back stiffen, predatorily, and he set his goblet down. "You sit at my table?" Guy asked impatiently.

"Is it not the king's table?" the son, this Balian, asked evenly. So they had met before. Probably in Messina. Perhaps Gregory knew something about that.

Guy let out a short laugh. "Is it? I have not seen a king at it for some years." He sighed and then said, completely unsincerely, "I am sorry, I cannot eat. I am…I am finicky about company. In France," he said with disdain, "_This_ could not inherit. But here, there are no civilized rules." He rose from the table, and Tiberias, as was custom, rose with him. "I have business, in the East," Guy said flatly, slapping away the attendant who took his cloak from the floor. "My wife does not lament my absence," the count of Ascalon said coldly, standing at his wife's shoulder. Sybilla did not move, or even flinch, though she looked as if she would have liked to. "That is either the best of wives, or the very, very worst."

"Do you go to meet Reynald?" Tiberias asked straightforwardly, and Guy turned like a stung horse, leaping to his own defense. _It's true, then,_ Aude thought to herself. _He wouldn't speak so if it were not. He and the lord of Kerak are friendly enough, and Guy likes a bit of bloodsport._

"No, my lord, he is in disfavor and I am a member of this court. Why should I make leave with a…troublemaker?" Guy asked, draining his wine goblet and throwing the silver cup at his attendant.

Tiberias looked at the retreating form of Lusignan and, trying for a little bit of saved face, raised his own glass to Sybilla and said, as in toast, "To the very best of wives."

Sybilla smiled and raised her own glass, saying in Arabic, "God Bless Jerusalem," acknowledging the toast, and signaled the rest of the table to eat.

The coast was clear – Guy was gone. "There, go now and tell him," Aude said. The knight paced quickly over and whispered in the count's ear; Tiberias looked up, across the court, and saw Aude in the shadows. Nodding almost imperceivably, he turned to Balian.

"The king will see Godfrey's son," Tiberias said, but then, Sybilla rose. _What's this?_ Aude asked herself. _Baldwin said that she was smitten, but this is bold, even for her_.

"I'll take him," The princess announced, leading Balian away into the castle. She and Balian passed Aude without a nod, and Aude, after glancing at Tiberias, followed them, watching closely.

"This morning," Balian was saying, "I spoke without knowing who you were."

_So on her ride this morning she went to Godfrey's house to meet him_, Aude surmised. That was where the princess had seen him before.

"I knew who you were," Sybilla said, all charm and softness. "It's unmistakable. I loved your father," she said, turning to look at him as they walked. "And I shall love you."

_Oh, Sybilla, why must you say these things?_ Aude asked herself. _It's clear to me that you already love him! _

_And why shouldn't she?_ A devilish little voice answered back._ He's handsome and honest, and without ambition. Many things that Guy is not._

Balian looked at the Princess, not knowing what to think of what she'd just said. Sybilla noticed his discomfort too—"Do you fear being with me?" she asked straight out, her voice once more direct and honest.

"No," Balian said, but he turned quickly away; he was lying through his teeth. "And yes," he added honestly. Sybilla laughed.

"A woman in my place has two faces; one for the world, and one which she wears in private. With you, I'll only be Sybilla," she promised coyly.

Aude shuffled to the side of the corridor, and the writing case at her girdle clanked against the wall; Both Sybilla and Balian turned around, and the Princess chuckled.

"Tiberias thinks me unpredictable," Sybilla admitted, whispering to Balian, and Aude, in her corner, shook her head.

_Because you are, Sybilla, you are!_ After that she heard no more.

* * *

That scene in the great hall, at dinner, is one of my favorites in the movie. Guy is just dripping with envy and pride, and Sybilla somehow manages to maintain her cool. It's really an interesting dynamic between Guy, Sybilla, and Tiberias, who will get his own peice of fluff soon. Probably with his wife Eschiva, who you'll meet in about ten chapters.

Reviews, please? I'm a poor college student who had three tests last week!


	14. Chapter 14

Song of a Peacebringer – Chapter 14: Foul Words and Foul Play

* * *

After dinner, Gregory joined his sister in her study room, the library where she'd taken her lessons with William of Tyre, and now continued her studies and her poetry. The cave of wonders, Baldwin called it, after the Arabian tale about the hidden treasure house in the desert.

"You weren't at dinner," Gregory accused, taking a seat across from his sister, reading some text by the light of a pair of oil lamps on her desk. "I had to discuss monastic laws with the Patriarch of Jerusalem all by myself."

"And what did you think of Heraclitus, Brother?" Aude asked, marking her place and putting the book aside.

"I think he's a pompous man who's lost what little godliness he had in his search for power," Gregory said honestly. Aude laughed.

"That's the patriarch of Jerusalem, to be sure. I am sorry to have left you to your own defense -- I had business to tell the king."

"You mean about Balian," Gregory observed. Her brother was no fool – he knew what new people at court meant for his sister. "He was at dinner—Brother John told me they'd seen you earlier, near Tiberias' room. I assumed that was why you were not with us."

"They did see me, " Aude remarked. "Tell me, Gregory," she inquired, "When Guy first met Balian, in Messina, do you know what the reaction was? It was in Messina, was it not?" she inquired. They had to have met before, for Guy to ask why Balian sat at his table.

"Immediate dislike. Guy's very haughty, and Balian – well, the man was a blacksmith. He'll take no gall from princes or paupers, either way. At dinner they were spitting poison at each other."

"I saw that, too," Aude admitted, smiling a little at her brother's look, which had turned to abject surprise at her announcement.

"Are you a spy as well as a poet? How come I did not see you?" Gregory asked, amused and astonished.

"Your sister has her ways," Aude said with a smile, playing with the embroidery on her sleeve. Gregory rolled his eyes and gestured to the stack of papers beside his chair.

"Very well, keep your secrets. But don't think I won't find out one day. Brothers have ways of finding things. And speaking of finding things," Gregory mentioned, pulling a stack of papers from the desk, "I've been reading your Song of Roland, Aude. It's very good."

"Do you think so?" Aude asked, interested in her brother's opinion, which she could always count on to be honest with her.

"I do. And Baldwin's right – you should have Ganelon brought to justice at the end, as it says here, in your note."

"But I need to finish Montgisard – I had an idea for it after listening to Tiberias lecture on the rarity of perfect knights this afternoon," Aude explained.

"Is that what you're going to call it?" Gregory asked. "The Tale of Montgisard, or simply Montgisard?"

"Until I've found something else," Aude answered dismissively.

Gregory nodded, as if to say that he understood, but his face betrayed that he was thinking of something else entirely, something that vexed him considerably. "Aude, tell me truly what your situation here is," he said finally, looking at her with a determined look. Aude laughed nervously at the sudden interrogation, taken aback.

"I've told you already what goes on with me here, Gregory; what more do you want to know?"

"I've heard a great deal about your poetry, and your friendship with the king, Aude, but I've heard no talk at all of marriage! Father sent you here to become a bride, and here you are, twenty-one and still very much unmarried!" Gregory exclaimed.

"Do my accomplishments here mean nothing to Father?" Aude asked angrily. "I have a reputation, respect!"

"It is not seemly!" Gregory nearly shouted. He looked at his sister hopelessly, taking a deep breath and sighing. "Aude, poetry won't keep you safe and protect you in your old age, no matter how heroic your knights are nor how fair and just your ladies. No tale, no matter how fantastic, will keep your fingers warm as you copy it out again on a cold night, believe me, I know!" Gregory implored. "A spinster's life is not a pleasant one, sister. Baldwin will die, and without your protector, who then will you turn to? Tiberias? He sees you as a daughter, but he is old, too, and cannot be a safeguard. Our lord of Lusiginan, Guy? He barely tolerates his own wife, and will have little time for you. You must marry, Aude!"

"It is not as simple as that, Gregory!" Aude spat back. "No one…no one will have me," she said sadly.

Gregory looked at his sister suspiciously. "Your age, is that the impediment?"

"It is my association!" Aude revealed dismally. "I am a ward of the King, a ward of Jerusalem. Whoever marries me will be doubly bound to serve Baldwin, a bond that no knight here wants, though none will say it. It's Guy they'll follow. No one wants to feed a dying fire – no one wants a princess without a throne."

"So you must wait?" Gregory ascertained. Aude nodded.

"Until he's dead, or he chooses a husband for me. But there is little doubt among those who know him best he will not do that. I've been too good a friend for him to let me leave him before he's gone the way of God. When he's dead Guy will use me as a pawn to suit his purposes and his wife's demands, if Sybilla allows him the power to do that."

"So you remain husbandless and wait upon a dying king," Gregory said softly. Aude nodded.

"And for now that's all I need. If you'll excuse me, brother, I've had a long day and I need my sleep. Can you find your way back to the guest quarters?"

"I think I'm able to do that," Gregory said, kissing his sister on the cheek, all malice gone from his voice. "I'm going to attend Divine Office with Brother John tomorrow – I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Perhaps you'll join the Knights of the Hospital and give up the Rule," Aude said with a slim smile, locking the door of her study behind her brother and going back downstairs to Sybilla's rooms.

* * *

"You weren't at dinner, Aude," Sybilla observed when Aude returned to their room for the night, dropping the latch on the door behind her. _Did all of Jerusalem notice that?_ Aude asked herself.

"I was working with Baldwin. I am sorry."

"That seems to be your excuse for everything," Sybilla remarked with a touch of acid. "It surprises me how much you seem to serve my brother now and not me. You weren't with him when you followed Balian and me," the older woman accused. "Why were you watching me, Audemande? I want the truth."

Aude took a deep breath and chose her words wisely. "Sybilla, I've been your lady and companion for five years now. I've watched you birth two children and raise a third. I know your moods better than any other lady at this court. There's nothing you could hide from me, even if you wished it. Especially when it's love. And… I saw the way you looked at Balian," Aude added.

"What way is that?" Sybilla asked, evasive.

"The way a bride looks at her bridegroom on their wedding night. Full of lust."

Sybilla rolled her eyes. "You are a woman, Aude. Surely you lust after someone at this court. It's not a crime, just a sin."

"I am not a married woman, Sybilla. I do not have a duty and a trust with a husband!" Aude exclaimed.

The Princess of Jerusalem looked at her lady in waiting with an angry glance. "My husband is a Templar who claims the vow of chastity his order imparts on him against sharing my bed and goes to sow his seeds with whores, Aude! Am I not allowed a little freedom, too?"

"A woman's freedom comes at too high a cost!" Aude shouted, her brother's harsh words from earlier ringing in her ears as she said it. For a moment neither woman said anything. Sybilla's eyes were bright with fire, like burning coals in her perfect, beautiful face. It made her look more like a devil or an avenging angel, at the least, rather than a human woman.

The Princess digested all of this and then said, slowly, "You've spoken to Baldwin about this. He's the one who told you to follow me!" Sybilla accused, her ideas gaining ground.

"No!" Aude assured her, frightened that her lady would form the wrong impression of her ideas on this matter. Baldwin had nothing do with it, and he didn't need to be more estranged from Sybilla than he was already.

"Tiberias, then!" exclaimed Sybilla. It was the truth – Aude could not hide from that. "Oh, your face tells all, Aude! That old fox asked you to follow me!" Sybilla pointed one elegantly long finger at her companion, scowling.

"He only asks that you be more discreet!" Aude defended.

"I have done nothing wrong!" the Princess declared.

"Yet, Sybilla," Aude said, letting the single deadly word hang in the air between them. Sybilla looked at her venomously.

"I am a princess of Jerusalem, and you have no right to lecture me," she said dangerously, her voice low, eyes flashing.

"What rights does a friend have? A friend who does not want to see her princess or her king hurt? Please, Sybilla. For your brother?" Aude plead.

"I've done enough in my life for my brother, Aude. I want to do something for myself," Sybilla said, wrenching the curtains on her bed shut and leaving Aude to crawl into her trundle bed beside Sybilla's, feeling wretched indeed.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

Song of a Peacebringer : Chapter Fifteen – Old Friends

* * *

Aude rose later that morning than Sybilla did- the bed was empty, the bedclothes in a mess. After setting that to rights Aude went up to her study and wrote out her translations for an hour – today's torture was Marcus Aurelius – and at midday was sitting in the garden the next morning when the man Balian wandered in, looking around the garden. Seeing her, he approached her chair and table, looking a little lost.

"Are you the one they call the Little Dove? The woman poet?" Balian asked. "We met the other day --Your brother the monk told me I would find you here."

"I am the name you call me by. And you are the new Baron of Ibelin. I knew your father. He was a friend of mine," Aude said, standing up to greet him.

Balian looked a little sheepish. "I would have taken you for a child, the way he spoke of you. Your name did not help, either. I see now you are not so little," he apologized.

Aude chuckled. "I was a child when the name was given to me. Compared to Godfrey I was very much a child." She looked at him thoughtfully, watching his eyes. "But you did not come to discuss Godfrey of Ibelin. You came for something else." She studied his face and then, as if it were as obvious to him as it was to her, said simply, "Sybilla."

He looked afraid. "How did you—" He began, but Aude silenced him with a casual wave of her hand.

"I am her companion, and know her well. And a woman can always guess. You look afraid. You are a man, I think, who has not seen much of love," Aude judged, sitting back down and looking up at him. He was an easy study – one could tell he had never been at court before, or been a man who had to hide his secrets, like Tiberias or any of the other courtiers.

"How would you know that? That it is love, I mean," Balian asked.

"I write of love all the time. I know its signs and symptoms well. You are in love, and you are very much afraid of it." Balian looked overwhelmed, and Aude smiled, gesturing him closer. "Come, sit. We will discuss this," Aude said, gesturing to the empty chair opposite her table. Balian took the sheaf of papers and the rock she'd been using as a paperweight and set them on the table, careful not to let any of them blow away.

"With my wife, it was much simpler. More predictable. I liked her, and she liked me," Balian recalled. "There were no …politics involved."

"And where is she now, this wife of yours?" Aude inquired.

"Heaven," Balian surmised flatly. "Hell," He added with a confused shrug. "We lost our first child – and then she lost herself. She could not continue living, so she… died." He stumbled over this last word, as if he wasn't sure if it himself.

_A suicide, then._ "I am sorry for your loss."

"She was a simple woman and I was a simple man. Sybilla is so much more…complex. She speaks of having two faces, two lives. I do not understand that," the knight confessed.

"She is complex out of necessity, Baron. She is a princess, very much a Queen, wife to a husband who hates her, sister to a man who will die. She must be many people in one person. Otherwise she too will lose herself," Aude detailed.

Balian was impressed. "You're very wise, for one so young," He remarked. "You cannot be much older than me."

"I think I am younger than you, Baron --I have not seen twenty five yet. You're closer to Sybilla in age than I am. Your father told me such, once, that I was wise beyond my years. You said he spoke of me?" Aude inquired.

Balian tried to remember this, staring at the garden wall in thought. "He said… you were a great poet, who could read a man's soul before he'd even shown it to you," he remembered, turning his gaze back to her.

Aude laughed, and Balian looked put down. "He lied profoundly, or else exaggerated," Aude exclaimed. " He did you a great disservice, saying such. I am a poet the same as any other. Any power I have of that nature is only the result of careful study, not divine magic of any sort."

"He must have respected you. He said that when I reached Jerusalem I should be sure to seek you out, and take your counsel, for he had often learned much by it," Balian defended, quite aback with this woman who was so free with her words. He'd probably never met her like in France. _That's why Sybilla unnerves him so. She is too free,_ Aude surmised. _His wife was probably quiet as a mouse_.

She smiled. "And so you come to me with questions of my Princess and mistress. I do not know what counsel your father spoke of, but I hope I have not done him wrong. Know that I respected him."

"And the King? Do you respect him?" Balian asked without a second glance. _He's a bold one!_

"I respect Baldwin as I respected your father," Aude said carefully. "For the deeds he has done, and for the kindness he has shown me. I see that you respect him also." Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE !-- /* Font Definitions */ font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ , , {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} 1 {page:Section1;} --

It was a risk, but a well-calculated one – and it worked. Balian nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on Aude's. He meant what he said.

"What do you work on with him, all these hours?" Balian asked, gesturing to the sheaf of parchment and the writing set that sat on the table. "I hear from Brother John and from Tiberias you are his closest confidante."

"It is the poem of Montgisard, his great victory. So that men will remember him after he is dead."

"He told me of it," Balian said, realizing. "Montgisard, I mean. It was when he was seventeen."

"Yes, he was young. It is my gift to him, in repayment of the many kindnesses he has dealt me."

"Much luck for your completion of it. And thank you, Lady Aude, for your advice. I am grateful," Balian said, rising from his chair with an awkward little bow.

"Thank you for taking it, Baron Ibelin. You go to your house in the desert?" Aude asked, rising from her own chair.

"To my father's house, yes," Balian said.

"God grant you peace there," Aude said by way of farewell, watching the young man leave. He's more like Godfrey than I thought. _Oh, friend, if you could see your son here. What would you think of him? Would you approve of what he's become?_

_

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_

_Old friends/sat on their park bench like bookends/a newspaper blows through the grass/and falls on the round toes/of the high shoes/of the old friends._

Simon and Garfunkel song titles as chapter titles make me want to write Godfrey+Audemande fanfiction. Who's with me? At some point there will be a Tiberias/ Eschiva fanfiction with my name on it, but nothing's struck me lately. I'm also trying to jumpstart my P&P fic by rereading POB and that's not helping my 12th century vibes, either.

Well, it's Christmas break, and I thought this story would totally be done by now. Alas, it's not. In fact, it's not even quite halfway done. *head in hands* I'd love any of you who are reading it to tell me what you think, even if it's only a sentence or two.


	16. Chapter 16

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Sixteen – How Will You Remember Me?

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Audemande went to go see Baldwin the next day in mixed spirits – the encounter with Balian had made her reminiscent and her fight two days previously with Sybilla had left her stinging. She also hadn't seen her mistress in those two days, and it was making her anxious – Sybilla could hold a grudge as long as the mountains would stand, if she was allowed. Baldwin would know what she should do to calm his sister, and she knew he liked to be kept abreast of his court's comings and goings. As for her own unrest, simply being with the King could cure that – many days when she could not focus the sight of him calmly working his way through his own drifts of parchment was enough to calm her, or at least send enough envy through her veins to make her concentrate, afraid of being thought indolent.

But the doors leading to Baldwin's room from the personal side of the palace were closed, and one of his bodyservants, a tall, imposing Muslim who had been in the service of the king since he was a boy, stood guard at the entrance.

"Khadim, is the king ill?" Aude asked with a good-natured smile. "These doors are never barred."

"The king will not see you today, Lady Audemande," Khadim pronounced, his gaze immovable, staring ahead as if catching Audemande's eyes would render his guard of these gates useless.

The poet laughed uneasily, not believing what she heard. Perhaps it was a joke, a trick of Baldwin's – though why he'd do such a thing she didn't know. "Is he seeing anyone else? Is he busy or detained at the moment? Has he fallen ill again?"

"The king is in excellent health," Khadim stated. "He wishes, however, that you not be admitted to his rooms today."

"Did he give reason? Was there cause?" Aude asked, amazed and now more than a little scared. "Have I offended him in some way?"

"He did not say, my lady," Khadim replied evenly. Aude glanced at the doors and let her shoulders fall, turning on her heel and going to see the other man who might advise her on this matter. Count Raymond was known neither for his calm or his skill with Sybilla, but he was a diplomat and a master tactician, and he would know why Baldwin had decided to shut his doors to his Court Poet.

"Tiberias, the king is refusing to see me and has barred his rooms to me today," Aude announced, marching into Tiberias' study, disregarding the queue of clerks outside the door.

"Are we a bit out of sorts today, Audemande, or has the Good Lord taken our little dove and replaced it with a screeching hawk?" Tiberias asked evenly, not looking up from his parchment. "That sounded very much like a complaining little girl who can't have her way and wants to stamp her foot about it. And I know you are far too old to be playing that game," he added a little tersely, finishing his last letter and looking up at her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair to survey her.

Aude opened her mouth and realized Tiberias was right – she did sound very much like a twelve-year old who has been told to do something she does not want to do. "I am sorry," she said, looking down at the floor. "I should not have interrupted your work; it was very selfish of me."

"Thank you," Tiberias acknowledged. "Now that you have interrupted my work, you may as well stay – there's no sense in you leaving without having your question answered. There was a question, was there not?" he reaffirmed.

"Why has Baldwin told me I cannot work with him?" Aude asked.

"Why don't you answer that question yourself, Audemande?" Tiberias asked, sounding like the reasonable parent pitted against the headstrong and unthinking child. "What have you done recently that might earn the king's dissatisfaction?"

"I have done nothing!" Aude maintained. "I can think of nothing that I have done that might offend Baldwin so!"

Tiberias shook his head. "Then you are not thinking hard enough, Audemande. Have you not been here long enough to know your transgression? It is not him you have offended, but his sister. And a slight against Sybilla is a slight against Baldwin, though it affects him not at all."

"Oh," Aude realized, sitting down in front of Tiberias' desk with a heaviness in her body that had not been there before. So it was her disagreement with Sybilla that had caused all this.

Tiberias sighed and shook his head. "She's decked you out in necklaces these many years without you realizing they were chains, Aude. Now she's calling you to heel, and you should obey, or you will find a great many more doors closed to you besides the king's."

"Like yours, friend?" Aude asked bitterly, looking up at him. The Count of Tripoli gave a short laugh and came out from behind his desk, laying a calloused hand on Aude's shoulder for assurance.

"Does a father shut his daughter out in a blizzard after she's argued with her sisters?" Tiberias asked fondly.

"But you have just finished saying I have not argued with my sister," Aude pointed out realistically. The Count laughed again.

"I suppose that is true. But you understood what I meant," he said assuringly. "My door will remain open as long as Sybilla does not shut it first," he added. "And you know her well enough to know that she can do that, Aude, and she will."

"What do I do now?" Aude asked, feeling a little helpless, more helpless than she'd felt in a long time. For the first time since she had come to Jerusalem, the floor beneath her feet was crumbling, and she knew enough about it now to realize that the only people who might pull her out of the abyss, the only friends she had, were the ones who had let the floor fall in the first place. Gregory was right – she was on unstable ground.

"First you apologize to Sybilla," Tiberias stated flatly. "Then you cower and plead, and show her that you know your place."

"What is my place?" Aude asked. "I hardly know myself."

"You are her servant, Audemande, and not her equal. You were sent to Jerusalem to serve her, not her brother, and I expect she wants you to remember that. It may be the title he gave you that you wear so proudly, but it is Sybilla's attention that gave it to you, and she will not let you forget that without her, you are nothing. You will do as you're told from now on, not as you wish to do."

Audemande nodded, setting her face into a brave expression, far braver than she felt at the moment.

"Now go back to her rooms, Little Dove," Tiberias said gruffly. "Keep on your brave face, keep your eyes down, do not speak unless she speaks first. And show the Princess of Jerusalem that you know you have done wrong," he stressed.

Sybilla's rooms swam in the dim light of the oil lamps lining the walls, the light flickering off the glazed tiles in their intricate geometric designs, relics of a long-ago Saracen past. What woman had held these rooms when the Muslims held the city, Aude thought to herself. Was she a princess, or a mere lady, like me?

The princess of Jerusalem was enthroned in her silks and bolsters, surrounded by magnificence, the same magnificence that had so awed Aude when she had first come here nearly five years earlier, so much younger and so little tried in the ways of the world. But she was still the same small girl inside, the same nobody from a little town in France, and that frightened her now more than it had then.

"Well, Little Dove, and have you anything to say to me?" Sybilla asked, her voice ruthless and her eyes cold.

"You are a princess of Jerusalem," Aude began. "I am a mere knight's daughter. I spoke in haste, and did not think."

"Yes, you did not," Sybilla announced. "I am a daughter of kings. Rules exist for lesser mortals, and if I say I will play Bathsheba to another man's David, it will be so, and you will not speak against it, Audemande of Vinceaux. I could have you exiled," she began, so easily threatening and so very frigidly real about the threat. "Men have been exiled for less. But I find I have use for you, Little Dove, and my brother has use for you." She added this last fact with a little resentful venom in her tone.

"I am glad I can be of service to your majesty," Aude ventured quietly.

"Oh, get up," Sybilla spat. "You lose all redeeming qualities when you grovel, Audemande. It doesn't suit you."

"What use would you have of me, then?" Aude asked desperately.

"I wish you would understand me, Aude," Sybilla begged in a low voice, looking at the Court Poet with an intense gaze. "You, of all people, should know what I suffer. Why do you question my judgment?"

"Because that is what a friend does," Aude said miserably. She knew she should not have said it, after what Tiberias had counseled her to say this afternoon, but it was the only answer she had left.

"Princesses do not have friends," Sybilla answered realistically, though there was an envious note in her voice that wished it were not so.

"I am a companion and counselor, then, who cares deeply for her princess and owes her a debt she cannot repay," Aude rephrased.

Sybilla looked askance at her lady-in-waiting. "What debt is that, Little Dove?" she asked ruthlessly, knowing the answer already.

Aude considered very carefully before she spoke."You raised me up from nothing, and realized in me power I did not know I had. You gave me honor, and gave me a place in your house, though I deserved none there. And you showed me kindness far above my station to deserve."

Sybilla's beautiful face twisted into something of a fond scowl. "Perhaps that was my first mistake."

"If you consider it such, my lady, it shall be. Or perhaps I can still be of service to you, and that first kindness will work in your favor."

Sybilla considered this, glancing at her rings and bracelets and sighing, her anger much diminished. "Service," she repeated."You spoke of freedom yesterday, Audemande, and I do not think you know what that word meant, what it means, presently, to me. You are far more free than you realize, more free than even me, on occasion, because I have allowed it to be so, because it suits my purposes. It is this use of freedom I require of you, the one service you must always render to me. You can do things that I cannot, as Princess Sybilla, do – You spoke with Balian today, for instance."

"I did," Aude acknowledged.

"You know as well as I, and reminded me in your fashion, that he and I cannot speak here. I cannot be 'only Sybilla' in Jerusalem. And that pains me. I am a stranger in my own house, unwelcomed and watched at every turn."

"Men think it is their duty to protect us," Aude said simply. "They think we are weaker than they are."

Sybilla scoffed. "I've yet to meet a weak woman, Audemande; I've met many weak men. Why is that, that men can be weak and perceived as strong?" she mused.

"Women are given the burden of responsibility for original sin. Perhaps they watch us to make sure it does not happen again," Aude responded.

The Princess of Jerusalem laughed."The Bible! Certainly it was Eve who took the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, but it was Adam who also ate of it. It was Abraham who let Pharaoh take Sarah his wife to save his own skin. It was David who sent Uriah away to die so he might have Bathsheba. It was Mary who bore the son of God, but his lineage was traced through Joseph. Yet what does the Bible tell us of Sarah, or Bathsheba, or Mary, other than that they were dutiful wives or loving mothers? I watch you, Aude, writing your stories with my brother, and Tiberias. Their stories are secure – they are men. How does history remember women? How will history remember me? As a dutiful wife? As a loving mother? Or will it remember me as I am – as a sister who married only to save her brother's kingdom, while contributing to its ruin and ignoring her own love." She scoffed at her own suggestion. "What a thought! History never notes such detail for females. I'll be put into a pretty box and quietly forgotten, like my mother and grandmother before me."

Audemande said nothing; she had no questions, nor answers. It was time to leave – Sybilla gestured her away, the argument presumably forgotten or forgiven.

_If history will forget her_, Aude thought to herself, _it will certainly forget me. It will probably forget all of us._

_

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You're probably wondering why I just turned a princess of Jerusalem into a feminazi. My excuses are these – First, that those views are some of the questions I've thought about as a Catholic reading the bible, and second, that Sybilla seems like the kind of woman who enjoys questioning authority, and gender roles, and that little musing seemed appropriate for her after I enlarged the role her argument with Audemande played in their relationship. Originally, the argument was much smaller, but some of my readers felt that Aude wasn't having enough problems in her life and so I gave her more, a stumbling block to rein her in a little. I'm not sure what I think of the resolution of the argument, but I do like the scene I had to add with Tiberias, setting up further the father/daughter relationship I hope you could have seen me cultivating between them before this.

As always, I'd love to know everyone's thoughts on this.


	17. Chapter 17

Song of a Peacebringer: Chapter Seventeen -- Water in the Desert

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New semester, new classes -- new chapters!

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A month went by, and court settled down again. Sybilla's ruffled feathers were soothed, Audemande recommitted herself to her duties as a lady-in-waiting, and Baldwin's health improved a little. Montgisard continued apace, but Baldwin was often tired, and had little patience for recounting battles he'd already won, or lost, especially when it was on Sybilla's timetable. As for the argument between the Princess and the Poet, it was grudgingly forgotten.

"Aude, I want you to watch Sybilla," Baldwin announced one day as Aude reviewed her notes, letting the King sleep lightly while she corrected wording and cadence in her latest draft. "She's told me she's bound for Cana, on a pilgrimage, but, conveniently, the path to Cana runs exactly opposite the way to Ibelin, and even I know my sister's tastes. I expect she'll stay a few days there. She can be rash, Aude, as well you know. I do not want her attracting attention. Anywhere she goes, you will go too. If she wants what is due Caesar rendered unto Caesar, I see no reason why I can't get some profit out of it, too."

"You know I quarreled with her when Balian first came here," Aude reminded her king. He could be devious when he wanted to be, the result of years of his cousin Raymond's tutelage and guidance in the arts of politics.

"How could I forget?" The king asked with a little amusement in his voice. "But that disagreement was over the same thing that I am asking you to watch her now for," Baldwin said. Not much escaped the King's attention, or that of Tiberias. It was probably he who had told Baldwin the details of Sybilla's spat with Aude.

"You suspect her and Balian of an indiscretion, as Tiberias does," the Court Poet accused.

"Tiberias suspects everyone of everything," Baldwin observed wryly. " Balian, on the other hand, is a man who could do no wrong. He is as guileless as you say. Secretive, perhaps, but without malice. My sister, on the other hand, has the heart of a snake and the Courteney blood in her veins. She can outlast mountains and out-wit the greatest minds of the age. And after Guy, I cannot grudge her that. A little honesty would do her good. Yes, Aude, don't act surprised, your king said that."

Sybilla's words from the previous month smarted in her ears. _Am I not allowed a little freedom, too?_ Evidently Baldwin was giving it to her.

"But our work, your poetry. Who will keep you company here?" Aude began, trying to find an excuse.

Baldwin wouldn't have it. "The poetry can wait. As for company, your brother Gregory's a fine enough scholar. He's been at my library, and is reading Caesar's _Gallic Wars_. He wishes to discuss it with me. Now go be my sister's nursemaid, little dove, and bring me back her doings. I'll be in capable hands if I get sick."

"As my king wishes," Aude said, going to pack for a trip to Ibelin,however long that might take. Knowing Sybilla, they might be there a long while.

* * *

Balian came in from the fields sweaty and covered in dirt to greet them as their train rode up. There was a well in the fields beyond, which all the people were crowded around. _"They did not thirst when He led them through the deserts," _Aude quoted to herself._ " He made the water flow out of the rock for them; He split the rock and __the water gushed forth."_ Underneath her deep red cowl, Aude surveyed the land, wondering what had made Godfrey love it so. It was very much like him – sparse, without ornament or ostentation. Simple and refreshingly calm. _That's probably why Balian's at home here – no courtiers to muddle the waters any,_ Aude thought silently.

The Baron of Ibelin smiled as Sybilla nodded to him in greeting. "I'm on my way to Cana," she said. Balian looked as though he did not know of where she spoke. "Where Jesus turned water to wine," Sybilla clarified, taking off her veil and smiling at him. Balian's expression did not change. "But a better trick would be to change you into a nobleman," the Princess said crisply, her smile challenging him.

"Oh, that would be easy," Balian said. "In France, a few yards of silk can make a nobleman." Sybilla laughed, and Balian turned to look at Aude. "Am I not right, Lady Poet?"

"You did recognize me, Baron," Aude said with a smile, letting down her veil. "What he says is true. But even after you paint it gold, a wooden plate remains a wooden plate," she said wittily. "Perhaps we should take him as he is and spare ourselves the trouble," she joked to Sybilla.

"Yes, perhaps," Sybilla said with a smile, her eyes fixed on his.

"We might discuss morality and conduct better if we were in out of the heat, my lord," Aude added.

"Oh, where have my manners gone?" Balian asked, looking at Sybilla, clearly wanting to hear what she had to say on this.

"Probably down the well with the cleanness of your clothes," the Princess said tartly. Balian laughed.

"Pray let me bid you welcome to Ibelin, my Lady," the Baron said, sweeping a bit of an awkward bow, his arms wide in welcome.

"I expect your hospitality for several days until I continue," Sybilla said, smiling coyly at the young Baron. Balian stepped aside and shouted to his steward, leaving the path up to his house clear. The women spurred their horses on, kicking up a cloud of dust that the children of the village followed, shrieking and laughing, all the way to the gate.

* * *

"Ya'la! Go, go," Aude said, shooing away the servant girls. "The bath is getting cold!"

"Your Arabic is getting better," Sybilla observed, squeezing out her sponge over her shoulders.

"William would deplore my accent," Aude said. "It is so different from French and Latin!"

"There was a great scholar who once spoke at the court who said that all languages were descended from a single tongue, and that when we found it, that would be the language of God."

"Where did he say it might be found?" Aude inquired, pulling dresses out of Sybilla's packs to air out.

"In the garden of Eden," Sybilla said with a laugh. "Wherever that may be. Where do you suppose Balian is? Out with his wells and his dirt?"

"Most likely. And if that is the case, you are not going out to meet him, as we've just gotten you cleaned up," Aude said in a businesslike fashion.

"Let me go out to him, Aude! Let me see him! It's been a month, and we are in the desert, where there are no tongues to nag me. Except yours," she added with a little fond frown. _Except mine_, Aude thought to herself. It had been easier to carry Baldwin's orders when they had been out in the desert, only traveling to their destination instead of being there. Here in Ibelin it would be different – the tree was within reach, the apple ready for picking.

"You'll finish bathing first," Aude said, full of reason. "If you're going to dirty your soul…at least you'll have a clean body," she said pragmatically.

"Sometimes you're such an old woman, Aude. I wonder if we shouldn't marry you soon and let that ripe young body of yours delight some old fool who'll die of the heat and leave you pregnant and rich," The Princess of Jerusalem said languidly, watching her lady-in-waiting for her response.

"I'd rather die a virgin who has only dreamed of love than a widow who has awoken to find her dreams were all for nothing," Aude said pertly.

"You philosopher," Sybilla accused, wrapping herself in a sheet and sitting down on the low taboret, dipping her feet in the water and taking the sponge Aude offered her.

"What I am you have made me, princess, and no one else," Aude shot back, turning away from Sybilla's wash basin to fetch clean clothes from their packs.

"Who would you marry, Aude, if you had a choice?" Sybilla asked, looking out the window.

"I do not have a choice, Sybilla, so making one is irrational. It is entirely in the hands of your brother. If I were to chose someone, he would chose someone else. Guy, of course, would marry me to Templar in a moment to consolidate his power, but as we know, that's nearly impossible since the Templars swear to a monastic life."

"And my brother? Who would he chose?" the Princess of Jerusalem wondered aloud.

"Probably Tiberias, if he weren't married already," Aude quipped. "Someone he trusted utterly."

Sybilla laughed. Aude held up a dress and then put it back down, shaking her head. "Probably Godfrey, if the man had lived," the poet mused with a certain amount of sadness.

"And would you have minded being married to Godfrey, if he had lived? Keeping this house, bearing his children?" Sybilla asked from the washbasin.

Aude thought about this. "No, I suppose not," she said quietly after a long while. "He was a good man. I shall miss him." There was no answer from Sybilla. Aude turned around and looked around the partition to see her mistress standing at the window, in her sheet, peering through the lattice window out into the fields. Watching Balian, no doubt.

"Come away from the window, or someone shall see you," Aude said, dragging the Princess of Jerusalem back into the cool afternoon shadows of the room. "Now, what shall you wear?"

* * *

Aude made herself scarce that evening, allowing Balian and Sybilla their evening in peace. She knew what Sybilla would ask of the young Baron, and she knew Balian well enough (he was a man, after all) to know that he would not refuse. She might as well let them do as they wished: there was no Guy to disturb them and no Tiberias to complain of it. What happened in Ibelin would stay in Ibelin, where it belonged.

When it was too dark outside to see, she brought her traveling writing case inside and went upstairs to the room she and Sybilla were sharing. Her red scarf had been hung on the partition that screened the bed from the rest of the room – Sybilla's little signal that she was not to be disturbed. _That's something I've not seen for some years. Since Maria was born,_ Aude thought to herself. _But then, that was about when Guy had joined the Templars, too. Perhaps he was tired of begetting daughters._

Behind the partition, Aude could hear two very busy bodies at work. A virgin I might be, but I know well a wife's duties, she thought to herself as she quietly set the case down and retrieved her cloak, going back outside into the courtyard where the rest of Balian's men and Sybilla's escort were sitting by a blazing fire, singing and dancing to the music of a flute and drum one of the villagers must have had.

"My lady Audemande, are you lost?" one of Balian's lieutenants asked, standing up as Aude approached the campfire. The tall bald one – What was his name? Almaric.

"No, Almaric. I merely thought tonight would be good for a walk. The air is very cool, and my lady bade me enjoy the weather," Aude said, locking eyes with the man and hoping he understood her meaning. Almaric smiled barely and nodded.

"You are welcome to join us, Lady Poet."

"You don't know what an honor this is, lads. This is the Lady Dove of Jerusalem, friends! The king's own poet!" one of the knights remarked to Ibelin's men.

"Tell us a tale, Lady! One of your poems!" some of the Ibelin soldiers said, and Aude smiled, drawing her cloak tighter around her.

"What would you like to hear? A romance, perhaps, something to tell your lovers on cold nights? Or a battle, bloodthirsty and wicked?"

Some cried for battle, and some for love, and Aude held up her hands. "I'll tell you the story of Bersules the Coeur-Aigle, the Eagle Heart, and his quest to find the staff with which Moses transformed the Nile into blood. It has some battles, and some love in it. Have any of you heard of this great quest?"

"No!" came the chorus from around the fire, and Aude smiled. She'd told stories to rougher crowds when she'd come down from Vinceaux all those years ago – and her bone-handled knife was still at her girdle, if she needed it.

"Well, Bersules was a great knight of Charlemange's court, all those years ago, and none could best him on the battlefield. He told his lord of this, saying to Charlemange, the great king, "Charles, you are my lord and my commander – but I am bored of life here. There is no challenge you can give me that I cannot best. Send me away, some special mission to the world's end. I will find the True Cross for you, or visit Prester John, who reigns across the sands…"

There are many different ways to tell a tale, and after nearly ten years of practice, Audemande knew them all. Men require battles, women morals – the common peasant likes the unknown and imaginative, the noble a sense of duty and regularity and preservation of the social order. Religion must be considered also, and age. And of course, the poet must be able to change the story at the flick of a wrist if she sees the audience is becoming bored. Aude could do all of these things, and well. No one was left wanting by the time Aude finished her tale. The moon was higher in the sky, the air was cooler, and the windows of Sybilla's room were open – it was safe for her to come back.

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This chapter is dedicated to Helen, who slaved through exams and still managed to update her story. I feel I owe it to her (and besides, I was thinking of updating anyway.)

This story has taken on a new dimension in the light of my new semester -- I'm taking a post-colonial literature class and, of course, with reading post-colonial literature comes a certain mindset change that's very hard to describe if you're not familiar with Edward Said. Anyway, it's come to my attention that the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem is, in fact, one of the earliest forms of European colonization on the books, and suddenly this area has taken on a whole new dimension. I'm really wondering what my po-co prof would think of Kingdom of Heaven, and this story.

Reviews, please? *holds out begging bowl*


	18. Chapter 18

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Eighteen – Confession.

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_To those of you who have added this story to your favorites list, or your author alert, please feel free to review! ( SpicyRoses and Daughter of Kushiel, this means you!)_

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Aude crept back inside, slipping into her trundle bed and drifting soundly to sleep. She awoke the next morning as Balian was getting up, and turned over discreetly, pretending to be asleep as the baron searched for his clothes, collecting them and dressing himself in the morning half light.

After about an hour (she could not know the time – they had not brought an hourglass from Jerusalem) she, too, rose, dressing and finishing her morning prayers in three languages, Latin, French, and Arabic. In the absence of books, William had told her, translate anything, including your morning office. This she had done, though it felt strange to say the Pater Noster in Arabic.

Balian was in the courtyard, working a horse with the bit and bridle. He nodded his head as Aude approached, and handed the horse off to another one of his men. "My lady Aude, you are an early riser."

"Surely my lord Ibelin knows that all doves greet the morning early," Aude said jestingly. "All poets, perhaps not, but the wine was not too much last night, and I find myself refreshed."

Her joke, at least, brought a smile to his normally serious face."Are you finding Ibelin to your liking, Lady Aude?" The young baron inquired politely.

"I am, Baron. I have not been so productive in months. It is the desert air, I think," Aude surmised.

"I am glad to hear that," Balian said, glancing down at his dirty palms and wiping them absentmindedly on his shirt. "My lady, would you like to join me for a ride? To see more of Ibelin, I mean. The day is fine and I had planned to take the Princess, but she is…tired." He chose the word carefully – he didn't want to admit to any more than might be proper.

Aude nodded. "It should be my pleasure, Baron. I will change my clothes and attend you presently." If Sybilla was resting and as tired as Balian would have her believe, there was time enough for a morning ride, and other maids to attend the Princess if she should wake before their return. She walked quickly back upstairs for her veil and hood, along with her cloak and traveling boots, and was ready to leave in a matter of minutes (her dress was not expensive, and did not need to be changed)

Balian had a servant fetch him a cloak, fastening it on over his work clothes and guiding the second of a pair of horses into the yard, taking it from his groom. "What is your horse's name, Lady Aude?" he asked, petting the animal on the nose as Aude mounted up.

"She is called Joyeuse," Aude said. "After Charlemange's sword. She was purchased for me in Jaffa, when I first came here, and has been my mount ever since, though she is getting a little old." She patted the horse's neck with fondness and stroked the coarse, short hairs.

"She is a good animal," Balian judged. "This fellow has no name, but he is my companion also, and my friend. Come – I will show you Ibelin!"

Aude could not imagine what the land had looked like before Balian had dug his wells and made the desert into an oasis – there was more green here than she remembered seeing in a long time.

"It reminds me of the gardens at my brother's monastery, though they, of course, did not have so much trouble for water. It is very peaceful, out here, in the desert," Aude said, when they had stopped their horses on a low rise to overlook much of the village property. "I can see now why Godfrey loved it here."

"I moved to Ibelin thinking I would understand him more," Balian said. "And instead, I find myself only asking more questions about him. Will you tell me of him? You knew him longer than I did."

"Your father? There are better men to do that, people who knew him for many, many years. " Aude said as an excuse. She wasn't sure she wanted to remember Godfrey now.

"They are not here," Balian said. Aude laughed.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking that I knew him very well. He was a mystery even to me, and I knew him two years."

"But you did know him," Balian pressed. Aude rolled her eyes, pressing Joyeuse into a walk.

"He was a solemn man, Godfrey, and quiet. A man of few words, like you. But not afraid to give the honest truth when it was asked of him. Not very religious, but accepting of religion in others, like Brother John. He could take a joke, and laughed easily, in the right company. He had no wish to marry, though there were some who tried to make him. And he carried a great burden about his life in France," Aude remembered, smiling at the memory of the older Baron's face.

"Meaning me," Balian filled in.

"Exactly," Aude said, wondering if she should say more. "He said…" She paused. "Well, that's not important, really."

"Tell me," Balian prompted.

"The night before he left for Jaffa, he told me that even though he did not know you yet, he loved you, and he would bear you no malice if you did not become his heir. But he wished so badly to share the blessings that God had given him here that he was willing to suffer your refusal to offer them to you, and make your life a better one."

"What man is a man who does not make the world better," Balian said, and Aude turned to look at him, surprised that he could be so philosophical.

"Where did you hear that?" the Poet asked.

"It was in my smithy, in France. My…stepfather carved it there."

"He must have been a wise man," Aude remarked. "That's very true."

"Both of my fathers were wise men, it seems," Balian said with a smile. "You said that many tried to marry him. Was one of them you?"

Aude chuckled. "You have found me out!" she accused. "I will be the first to admit to you that I was, though not entirely of my own design. I was a little lovesick over him – he was a perfect knight. Strong, cunning, devoted. But his age was the impediment. He had no children and was not likely to beget more. And I was –am—a little old for bearing a good, healthy crop of children quickly," she said remorsefully. "Of course, there are ways to navigate around that in Jerusalem, if you are willing to risk a little gossip," she added, watching Balian frown. "If you are a great lady, or a…a princess, and a son might save your marriage, sleeping with another, younger man might not seem like a great sin," Aude said suggestively, testing Balian. _Has she told him she loves him? Or has she been fooling even me, and is acting as I say?_

"If that were the case, I could understand the woman. A lack of children is a terrifying thing." He spoke from experience, it seemed, for he had a far-away look in his eyes, as if remembering something. _His wife,_ Aude remembered. _Perhaps I should not have said anything._ But her curiousity was getting the better of her.

"But would you understand how the man felt, being used in this way? I've known men who've done it, some take it as a sign of favor, and others…not so well."

"Is the sin not her husband's in failing to provide her?" Balian reasoned. Aude nodded, considering this. the Baron went on."I see nothing wrong with it. In the East, I am told, between two people there is never darkness – only light."

_Sybilla must have told him that,_ Aude guessed, looking at her host. _It's far too witty to be something he came up with on his own._ "You really do love her," she said, watching him closely.

Balian smiled. "I thought you said you already knew that, my lady."

Aude chuckled ruefully. "You'll find, Baron, that the trick to getting a man to reveal his secrets to you is to make him think you already know them all," she remarked, grinning at the Frenchman. Balian sighed.

"You're very crafty, for a woman," he observed, just a little annoyed by his own realization.

"What I am, Jerusalem has made me, Baron Ibelin. I would not be so in France."

"That, it seems, is true for both of us," Balian mused, smiling a little. Audemande nodded in assent.

"Such is the will of God sometimes, Baron, to change our stars that way. Ya'la!" Aude said, spurring Joyeuse back to Ibelin's house, Balian following behind her.

* * *

A bit of short fun between Aude and Balian. I got side-tracked while I was editing this chapter and wanted to write the conversation Aude references in this chapter. Hopefully that will be up soon. I also stole a line from A Knight's Tale because it fit. It's really obvious, too, so if you didn't find it, shame on you.

To my faithful reviewers, thank you for your continued support, and to those of you who have yet to review, the button is right there…


	19. Chapter 19

Song of a Peacebringer: Chapter Nineteen – To Kerak

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Ask, and ye shall receive. Two chapters in one week, and, per request, this one longer than the first one.

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They stayed a week more at Ibelin, making ready to depart at the rise of the next moon. "What becomes of us?" Sybilla asked, looking intently at Balian, fingering the necklace at his throat—one of her rings, a ruby of great personal value to her, a gift from her father, Almaric. Aude had never seen her wear it until recently, and that was the story she'd been told. She didn't quite know if she believed it or not.

"The world will decide," Balian said reasonably, looking up at her and smiling. "The world always decides." Sybilla smiled again and kissed the ring. It was a poignant moment – and broken up by the arrival of another rider, a man half dead, nearly falling from his horse, blood staining the animal's skin. Ibelin's men ran out to greet him, helping the rider from his mount.

"My lord," Almaric shouted back to the castle, listening to the exhausted rider. "The king is marching on Kerak. He bids you attend him there, and recall what he told you at your first meeting."

"What was this?" Sybilla asked, looking down at Balian.

"Protect the pilgrim road, and protect the helpless," Balian quoted. "And perhaps someday, when I am helpless, you will come and protect me. Have every man at arms ready to ride for Kerak – we need to be there before the King."

Almaric nodded, jogging back into the castle to alert the other men at arms.

"Why to Kerak?" Aude asked her friend. "Baldwin knows he should not travel."

"Perhaps Reynald's done something to arouse the anger of Saladin," Sybilla proposed. "I cannot think of any other terms that would make him leave Jerusalem." She turned her horse to Balian. "I will ride with you," she offered quickly. "I have eight knights with me; they will be useful to you."

"Princess, I cannot stop you or refuse your aid," Balian said, suddenly all business, the sentimental lover gone.

Sybilla turned her horse around to face Aude. "Aude, you will stay here. Battles are no place for little doves."

"Battles are no place for princesses, either," Aude pointed out, affronted. "And yet here you are. I'm going with you. I told your brother I would watch you, and I will not break that promise. Besides, I write all about battles and I have yet to see one," she added rationally.

"Is that it, Aude? Battles are where men die, no more than that. They are not the stuff of poetry and legend. Good does not always win," Sybilla pointed out.

"You think that I don't know that?" Aude asked strongly. "I've had friends die, too, Sybilla, of battles great and small. William, Godfrey, men that I've met one Sunday I've seen shriven the next. You told me once when I made a very small victory that I had something of the falcon in me. I assume a battle is a place for them," she remarked. The Princess still looked hesitant. "I'm coming, Sybilla, whether you like it or not," Aude declared with finality.

"Well then, follow me!" the Princess said, spurring her horse to the side of the road so that the first of Balian's soldiers could ride by in their column.

Aude had not ridden so hard or fast since she had been a girl in France, racing with Gregory on one horse against Reginald on the other. The wind in her hair and the sand she felt flying against her face, kicked up by the riders in front of them, brought back memories of a life she had all but forgotten.

The castle of Kerak where Reynald of Chatillon kept his family and his own troublemaking self was a half-day's ride from Ibelin. A tall spire climbing out of the desert, it commanded a commendable view of the plains around it for miles, and was a great defensive position. They would need that today, if Saladin really did intend to attack.

"Stephanie of Milly is Reynald's wife. She'll welcome us accordingly," Sybilla said as they drew nearer to the fortress.

"Your sister lives here as well, does she not?" Aude remembered. The Princess Isabella, King Almaric's child by his second, Byzantine wife, Maria Comnena, had been married several years ago to Stephanie's son from her first marriage, Humphrey of Toron, a sallow-faced young man who did not particularly impress his stepfather Reynald with his so-called feminine habits and his dislike of the man's work of war.

The children of Almaric's first wife didn't like to be reminded of Isabella's existence, or that their own mother's marriage had been annulled to make room for Maria Comnena, which might have explained why Sybilla was frowning so deeply. "She does. What a family party we shall have when Baldwin gets here," the Princess of Jerusalem said darkly.

They pulled up outside the walls of Kerak, watching villagers run past them in a scramble to get into the castle before the gates closed on them, or the Saracens behind them left their bodies in the sands in order to get to the lord of Chatillon faster.

"Saracen cavalry. They're coming to close Reynald in," Almaric declared, looking on onto the horizon and pointing for Balian. "These people are not safe outside the walls – Saladin will certainly come behind them."

The line of Saracens was getting closer, their numbers far greater than the paltry hundred cavalry troops Balian had with him.

"Go into the fortress," Balian ordered Sybilla, who nodded. It was the only command, Audemande realized, that she had ever seen Sybilla submit to so readily.

"Hayiah-binah! Come this way," The Princess called, her knights and Aude falling in behind her, making for the fortress.

Inside Reynald's castle, the situation was quite different from the fortress below – knights waited in lines in the courtyard, as if they were expecting to receive a dignitary. Reynald was also waiting for them, and stepped by with a mocking courtesy to let them pass into the fortress. "Visitors!" He cried joyfully.

"Princess Sybilla," a middle aged woman announced, coming into the inner courtyard to greet them. "To what do we owe this honor?"

"To your bloody, murdering brute of a husband, Lady Chatillon," Sybilla said curtly, sliding down from her horse. "I was on the road when Baron Ibelin's cavalry rode past – they told me it was better to come with them than suffer at the hands of the Saracens. So I am here, despite the fact that your husband is in disgrace at my brother's court. I require water and hospitality for myself, my men, and our horses. The Court Poet of Jerusalem," she gestured to Aude, "Requires the same."

"Sybilla!" chirped an adolescent little voice. "Have you come to visit?" a fourteen year old girl asked eagerly, curtseying to the older woman.

"No, silly girl, I've come to watch a battle," Sybilla said shortly. "Audemande, my half sister, the princess Isabella," she introduced without even looking at the two of them. Aude nodded to the younger woman, following Sybilla with determined strides. "Isabella, Lady Audemande, the Court Poet."

Audemande was roundly ignored by the little princess, who chose instead to focus on her elder half-sister. "You would treat your own sister thus?" Isabella asked, insulted, following the two women up to the battlements.

"I would treat my own sister worse, Isabella. That you are only a half sister spares you this," the older Princess of Jerusalem spat. "I'll treat you like a sister when you begin to act like one and come to Jerusalem to see your brother," she added ruthlessly. "Now go away, 'Bella. You annoy me, and are too young to watch battles."

"Can I not stay here with you? I am not so young," Isabella retorted. Sybilla turned quickly on her half sister, eyes flashing.

"Not so young? You're still very young. I was never young, Isabella. When I was sixteen I was married to a man twice my age who'd already given me a child when he died. After that I was given to a man who gave me two daughters and endless grief. I've been a political pawn since my courses started, and now I wield more power in Jerusalem than many men twice my age! You're only a shadow of what I am, and a pale shadow at that. Your husband's young, four years your senior. When you've married an old man and had your pretty little body be his plaything, then you'll know something of age. Now go slink back to Humphrey and go pout to him. Or is he finally old enough to ride out with Reynald's Templars?" Sybilla asked viciously.

The fourteen year old didn't seem to know what to do, but she looked like she was going to cry. Which she did, as soon as she had run away.

"That was harsh, Sybilla," Aude said. "Some might say unnecessarily so."

"Life is harsh," Sybilla remarked coldly. "It's time she learned that."

Sybilla approached the wall, looking out on what would soon become a battlefield. Reynald blustered up the steps, smiling in his odd, manical manner.

"What do you look at?" he asked bluntly, gathering his caftan about him. For a man who hates the Muslims as much as he does, Aude thought to herself, he certainly uses enough of their customs. She'd seen him in his armor at court enough times to know it was all Saracen craftsmanship. But maybe that was because he had been a prisoner in Aleppo for nearly seventeen years. Long enough to know them, as Tiberias did, but long enough also to hate.

"A knight," Sybilla said, her voice very distant. "And his men."

Balian's knights charged toward the advancing line, drawing up into a single column. Sybilla and Aude watched, helplessly, as they saw the Saracen line fanning up, surrounding the Ibelin men at arms and then engulfing them as the two lines met. Suddenly the air was filled with sound, of dying men and screaming horses, and the very faint clash of metal and shields. It was impossible to see anything – there was only a mass of men, hacking away at each other, the sides indistinguishable.

And just like that, it was over. The white flags of Ibelin with their red cross pattée were shoved into the ground beyond the Saracen line, and one of the Muslims, obviously the leader, was coming out to meet a single figure.

"I'd give anything to know what they're saying," Sybilla whispered. This distance was a torment. The man on the ground rose up to face the Muslim commander, and looked back at the castle.

That must be Balian, Aude thought to herself. There was a great rumbling, and both women could see that the bulk of Saladin's army had arrived.

"We are doomed," Sybilla said to Aude under her breath, holding tightly onto the poet's hand.

"This is a treat," Reynald said, watching the melee with excitement. _What is it about this man that drives him so?_ Aude wondered to herself.

But on the other side of the field there was still more noise; another force was coming. Like a mirage, the golden glint of the relics of the true cross rose out the dust from the Army of Jerusalem, flags fluttering around it.

"But who is leading them?" Sybilla asked. "Baldwin is…too ill…"

But it appeared she was wrong, for the King was there, his silver mask flashing in the sun.

A contingent of Saladin's knights rode out to meet the Christian army, stopping in the middle of the field in front of Kerak. The king and his attendants rode out to meet them, and Sybilla watched in wonder as a figure, robed in black, rode out to meet her brother. "Saladin," she whispered, her fingers tight to the stones of the battlement wall. Aude squinted, trying to see the mythic man. But all she could make out was that he dressed plainly, in unadorned black robes. A strong contrast to the white and blue of Baldwin's surcoat.

There was no noise but for the whipping of the flags in the wind, and Aude watched as a great cloud passed over the battlefield. "They talk of terms," Sybilla said to Aude. "If they agree…perhaps you will see no battle here today."

Evidently they did agree, for the Sultan went one way and Baldwin went the other, leading the army towards Kerak. Reynald smiled pitilessly and went back down to the courtyard, Sybilla, Aude, and Stephanie (who had been watching too, silently) following behind him.

"I am Reynald of Chatillion," the Templar declared, marching into the courtyard to meet the king, his knights still lined up, ready to receive him.

"He was expecting this," Sybilla accused, disgusted.

Tiberias and many of the army were already assembled when Baldwin walked his horse leisurely into the courtyard, dismounting and walking over to Reynald, a single figure dressed in orange and red amidst his own knights in white with their Templar Crosses. He bowed theatrically, his arms open, the gesture of peace. Baldwin stared down at him, pulling the riding crop from his belt, clearly as disgusted as his sister was.

"On your knees," the king ordered. Reynald sank down a little. "Lower," Baldwin commanded. The knight knelt in the dirt, his arms still wide, the perfect courtier. "I am Jerusalem," Baldwin declared. "And you, Reynald, will give the kiss of peace." He stripped the glove from his hand, but not his right, his good hand—rather, the left, the bruised, diseased flesh that had so long ago ceased to have any function other than a hindrance to its owner. Buried in the melted flesh there was the signet ring that Baldwin's father had given him, the coronation ring of Jerusalem – Baldwin meant for Reynald to kiss it, a sign that he would renew his fealty oath, to serve the king's bidding, in case he had forgotten it.

Reynald observed the hand, and then leapt at it like a dog, kissing it as a dog might, sloppily and un-reverently. Baldwin withdrew the hand and without warning lashed out at the knight with his crop, whipping his face one way, and then the other, lashing him mercilessly twice more before he staggered backwards, overwhelmed with the sudden display of strength that was so little required of him. Reynald lay in the dirt, moaning. Tiberias called for a guard, helping the king back to a covered litter, hung with white drapes.

Sybilla could take this no longer, and dashed out from the entrance to the fortress, going to attend her brother. "Baldwin, dear, dear, sweet fool, why did you do this?" she asked, watching her brother. Baldwin laughed hoarsely. Behind them, Tiberias was talking to Reynald – two guards seized him, taking him away to the army's caravan.

"He needed to be taught a lesson, and I was the only teacher he will hear," the king rasped. He glanced behind Sybilla and his eyes smiled. "Aude, I told you to keep my sister safe," Baldwin accused, coughing a little. "What are you doing here?"

"I tried to make her stay away, my lord. She was too stubborn for me. So I came to see what a king looked like commanding an army," Aude said quietly.

"And did you find one?" Baldwin asked, his voice weak.

"I did," Aude said, trying to keep her tears in check. The ride from Jerusalem had weakened him considerably. "My lord, what are you doing here?" she asked him, begging for the answer.

"Keeping God's peace," Baldwin said with a racking little laugh.

"Cannot someone else keep it now?" Aude asked, impressed and saddened by her master's condition.

"Not till I am in my grave, little dove. Now come, let me be—my men will laugh when they see the women fussing over me." Baldwin shooed them away, waving his good hand weakly.

Sybilla smiled wanly and nodded, drawing Aude away, back to the fortress.

"Do what you wish, Sybilla – I am going home with the Army," Aude said, her voice resolute, going back to where their horses were stabled.

"Do not think I am so shallow I would desert my brother now as well," Sybilla said staunching, calling for her own horse. "We will ride home together."

* * *

The irony in Sybilla's remarks to Isabella becomes apparent when you find out what happened to her in the years to come – Sybilla died at Acre in 1190, but Isabella would be divorced from Toron and married three more times, to Conrad of Montferrat, Henry of Champagne (who married her just eight days after Conrad was murdered by the Hashshashin, and who according to the Arabic historian Imad Al Din took her to their marriage bed while she was still pregnant with Conrad's child) and finally to Almaric of Lusingan, Guy's older brother. Her half sister bore four children (Baldwin V, a stillborn son, and two daughters) and Isabella had six – a daughter by Conrad, two daughters by Henry, and two daughters and a son by Almaric.

Fascinating life these people lead, isn't it? So, I think Sybilla was just a little harsh. Anyway. These chapters will start to get a little longer and a lot more movie-oriented.

I'm not afraid to get out my begging bowl – reviews please? Flames will be used to burn heretics and Audemande's badly copied drafts. :D


	20. Chapter 20

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter 20: I Would Fly Away From This Place

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The ride to Kerak had not been good to Baldwin – sapped of strength, he received visitors in his room from a low couch, too weak to sit up.

"So, little dove, you've seen me at my worst and imagined me at my best. What do you think of me now?" Baldwin asked, watching his poet as Audemande, in her turn, watched him. Tiberias had left, along with Balian; the two men both looked tired and overworked. The king was on his couch, resting again – he'd had a very trying last few days. Sybilla had ridden out into the city after Balian, who had left some hours previously looking grave. That left Aude to keep him company on this, one more long day in a series of ever-lengthening days.

"I still think you are as much of a king as ever, Baldwin," Aude said with a smile.

"You said my name," the king said happily. "I don't believe I've ever heard you call me by my name before, in our three years of friendship."

"Was it friendship? I thought I was serving a king," Aude recovered feebly.

"You were my friend, Aude. 'The one with whom I shared close friendship as I walked in the house of God.' Is that not how the psalm goes? I cannot remember it now," the King admitted.

"But it is you, a man like myself,

my companion, my close friend,

with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship

as we walked with the throng at the house of God." Aude quoted, her throat suddenly very dry. "Shall I continue?"

"Yes, do," Baldwin said, settling back into his pillows. Aude went for the Bible on Baldwin's desk, and opened it to the Psalms, finding the fifty-fifth, with its worn corner and dirty edge.

"Let death take my enemies by surprise;

let them go down alive to the grave,

for evil finds lodging among them.

But I call to God,

and the LORD saves me.

Evening, morning and noon

I cry out in distress,

and he hears my voice.

He ransoms me unharmed

from the battle waged against me,

even though many oppose me.

God, who is enthroned forever,

will hear them and afflict them—

men who never change their ways

and have no fear of God.

My companion attacks his friends;

he violates his covenant.

His speech is smooth as butter,

yet war is in his heart;

his words are more soothing than oil,

yet they are drawn swords.

Cast your cares on the LORD

and he will sustain you;

he will never let the righteous fall.

But you, O God, will bring down the wicked

into the pit of corruption;

bloodthirsty and deceitful men

will not live out half their days.

But as for me," Aude recited bitterly, crying, "I trust in you."

"See, it applies now as much as ever. What is the line that I love so much now? 'Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away from this place, and be at rest.' May I borrow your wings, Aude? I have none of my own," Baldwin asked plaintively. Simply.

"All that you require of me is yours, my lord," Aude wept.

"Your lord requires you to stop crying for him, Aude, and call him by his name again, and tell me another story."

"Which story, my lo—Baldwin?" Aude asked, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"Tell me Roland. Tell me Ganelon comes to justice in the end."

"Shall I begin at the beginning?" Aude inquired, wondering if they had time for the whole poem.

"No, not this time… begin…" Baldwin sank into a coughing fit, and had to recover his breath. "Begin at the end. At the beginning of the end. We should have sufficient time for that."

Aude nodded and opened up her traveling case, drawing forth the final pages of Roland's manuscript, thinking of the Montgisard pages, many of them still up in her tower. Those were not done yet – but they would be.

"It is written in the ancient chronicle

That Charles sent word to many lands.

At Aix they assembled, in the chapel.

The day is solemn, holy with a feast-

They say it was the day of Nicholas,

The patron saint of judges and of trials;

He'll oversee the court and make it fair.

The charges and rebuttals now begin,

For Ganelon, who has committed treason;

For this the emperor has dragged him forth.

My lords and barons, says King Charlemange,  
Judge Ganelon for me with equity,  
He went with me among my host to Spain,  
And cost me twenty thousand of my men,

My nephew, noble Roland, whom you knew,

And courtly Olivier, his greatest friend.

For gain he has betrayed the dozen peers!"

"Ah, said Baldwin, interrupting the story before Aude could read the next line – her eyes were full of tears, and she was trying to make sure her paper did not get smudged—"If only it were this easy to try and execute Guy and Reynald."

"Indeed, my—Baldwin," Aude managed, wiping away another tear and going back to the manuscript.

"Ganelon says, "Damned if I will hide it!

Roland's taken from me gold and property—

I therefore planned his suffering and his death.

But I'll concede to no one this is treason."

The Franks then say, "On this we will deliberate…"

* * *

When Aude left Baldwin was sleeping soundly, and Aude thought that she'd very much like to sleep, too. But not while her king, her friend, was in danger of dying any moment. She'd finish what she started first – Montgisard had to be completed.

Taking the stairs two at a time up to her study, she pulled out new quills, sharpening them like a knight might sharpen his sword before a battle, ready to fight with her words on a paper battlefield.

How did she want to describe before the battle started? The image from that morning rose in her mind, the army of Jerusalem coming out of the dust, with the cross twinkling across the sands like the light of Christ come again…

Aude dipped her pen into the ink pot and began scribbling furiously.

* * *

Mea culpa for a short chapter. It's been a long week. I just got my study abroad application back, and yes, I am going to GALWAY, IRELAND, for fall of next year! It makes me really excited. If you're from that part of the world we should try and make plans to meet up sometime over tea or something. I do have the option to travel after my program is over in December.

This week was also interesting because I'm in the middle of an idea involving Aude's daughter and some very well known extant poetry from the period, which obviously I can't post until you meet Aude's love interest, who at the moment refuses to cooperate and help me write his courtship. I also spent an hour this week making family trees for Tiberias' wife, Eschiva, and the Ibelin family, because there's very little on who Eschiva actually was, and I wanted to write something about her, too. (If you'd like those charts, say something. I'm going to try and make them look nicer and maybe post them on my deviantart or thereabouts.

The Psalm, in case you don't remember, is the 55th.


	21. Chapter 21

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter 21 – O God, You Have Abandoned Us

You might need some tissues for this chapter. Just saying.

* * *

The dawn was well beyond breaking when Aude ran back to Baldwin's rooms, hair flying in all directions, dress wrinkled and spotted with ink. Sybilla was just emerging, closing the door behind her. Her eyes were red, and she didn't look as though she'd slept at all.

"Baldwin, is he well? May I see him now?" Aude asked anxiously, holding Montgisard to her chest. "Or is he sleeping? Shall I come back later?"

Sybilla looked at her, her mouth a tight line, trying not frown. She took a deep breath.

"Aude, Baldwin is dead."

Aude's heart dropped like a stone, and the poet stood looking at her princess, silent. Time seemed to stand still, the sands of the hourglass suspended for incalculable moments. Her papers fluttered to the floor, and then she, too, dropped to her knees, wailing, drawing her hand to her mouth as if she might stop the sobs from escaping. "But I just…it was only hours ago that I…"

"Now, Aude, please, don't…" Sybilla began, her own hand over her face, the tears coming back to her as well.

"I didn't get to read him the poem," Aude cried, ignoring her mistress. "I've finished it and now he'll never read it! He'll never know!"

Sybilla looked at her friend and then, without warning, she began crying too. "I'm sorry, Aude," she began, but found she had no more words to say. They sat there in front of Baldwin's chambers and wept a good long while until they found they had no more tears left, and could weep no more.

"May I go…" Aude gestured weakly to the door, getting to her feet and steadying herself against a table, her knees still weak.

"No, Aude," Sybilla said strongly. "Remember him as he was…as you imagined him to be. That was how he would have liked you to remember him. The way he will be remembered in your poem"

Aude nodded, and, taking the papers from the servant who had gathered them up, hobbled back up to her study. She found the box where she had kept Gregory's letters, and, opening the box, threw them to the floor. Reverently she placed the manuscript of Montgisard inside, and closed it, locking the little chest hard. Satisfied, she closed the door to her study, tucking the key to the box inside her dress.

Then she went back to her rooms to change into something black.

* * *

For the next several months a great pall hung over the city as the people mourned Baldwin, and then celebrated the coronation of Sybilla's little Baldwin as King of Jerusalem, and then mourned again at the loss of the little boy. Sybilla was crowned Queen, and Guy her King Consort, and the city celebrated with a sort of muted, half-filled joy. Aude wrote nothing, not able to bring a pen to paper without thinking that she had not written fast enough to share her beloved poem with Baldwin.

Men came and went, first Reynald of Chatillon with a company of knights, and then an emissary from Saladin, demanding the return of his sister's mutilated corpse and the heads of the men responsible. The emissary went back to Saladin without his own head, and Tiberias complained privately to Aude that he hoped Reynald would go the same way soon.

Then Guy rode out with Reynald, into the desert to an undefensible wasteland called Hattin, where it was said afterwards that the army, without water and without that other precious commodity, hope, had been massacred. Balian and Tiberias went out to inspect the damage, coming back with the news that neither the King's body nor his weapons were on the field, and he had certainly been taken captive, the True Cross had been stripped of its gold and its reliquaries and was now merely a meaningless wooden wreck on the battlefield, and that Raynald of Chatillon was dead, his head presiding over the carnage on a pike. Most men called it bloody and excessive. Aude merely called it fair.

* * *

"I'm leaving Jerusalem," Aude announced to Sybilla. The palace was quiet now, with no knights to fill it."There's nothing here for me anymore. My friends- Baldwin, Brother John, William, Godfrey– all dead. Tiberias has offered to take Gregory and me to his estate in Tripoli, and from thence Gregory will go home, through Byzantium. There's no room in Jerusalem for poets anymore," Aude said softly to Sybilla. "Or sanity, as Tiberias says."

"I wish you luck there," Sybilla said. "I, too, am thinking about leaving."

"And the graves of your brother, your son? And your living children? What becomes of them?"

"They are daughters, Aude. Playing pieces on a grand board for their father to move where he wishes. As he would move me, if he could. Let him have them, if he wants them so. He never loved them much."

"My father tried to make me play chess once. He failed," Aude recalled with a chuckle. "I do not have the head for games of strategy. But I do not forget what he said about the board. He said that the queen was the most powerful piece in the game, because she could move anywhere, or kill anyone, but also that if the King were to lose the queen, it was the most grievous blow a player could be dealt."

"Guy is not a king, Audemande. You know that. I say let him suffer him suffer the loss," Sybilla said flatly. Aude smiled thinly.

"Then I go," she said simply. She had nearly crossed the entire room before Sybilla spoke again.

"Aude, have you no song to sing me before you leave? No last story to tell me or wisdom to give? Five years I've known you, and been your friend. Shall we now depart in silence?" Sybilla asked, her voice now very much afraid.

Aude turned back and smiled sadly to her friend, thinking.

"O God, You have rejected us, You have broken us;

You have been angry; restore us.

You have made the land quake, You have split it open;

Heal its breaches, for it totters.

You have made Your people experience hardship;

You have given us bitter wine to drink that makes us stagger.

You have given a banner to those who fear You,

That it may be displayed because of the truth.

That Your beloved may be delivered,

Save with Your right hand, and answer us!

God has spoken in His holiness:

"I will exult, I will portion out Shechem and measure out the valley of Succoth.

Gilead is Mine, and Manasseh is Mine;

Ephraim also is the helmet of My head;

Judah is My scepter.

Moab is My washbowl;

Over Edom I shall throw My sandal;

Shout loud, O Philistia, because of Me!"

Who will bring me into the besieged city?

Who will lead me to Edom?

Have not You Yourself, O God, rejected us?

And will You not go forth with our armies, O God?

O give us help against the adversary,

For deliverance by man is in vain.

Through God we shall do valiantly,

And it is He who will tread down our adversaries." Aude finished her quote and looked at her friend. "Farewell, Sybilla. Peace be with you."

The Queen of Jerusalem looked broken, a relic of the former self. "And also with you," she said with a faint smile, leaving Aude to depart alone.

* * *

It doesn't really help this chapter that I'm nearing the end of the 'completed manuscript' chunk of my drafts and moving into the 'really needs to be finished' portion of the copy. Plus this is the depressing part. I apologize for that.

Several of you, dear readers, as well as myself, appear to be entertaining the idea that our good general Nasir might end up being Aude's love interest. While this is definitely not what I have written so far, I'm wondering now if that might be a better way to go. What do all of you think?

OH! One more item of business – the family trees I promised you last week have gone through my scanner twice now, with no improvements on the image quality. _Mea Culpa_, again.

Go to h-t-t-p:// picasa dot com slash mercurygray/FamilyTreesOftLooseTheirLeaves?feat=directlink and hopefully that will work.


	22. Chapter 22

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Twenty-Two –Desert Places

* * *

"As He was going along by the Sea of Galilee, He saw Simon and Andrew, the brother of Simon, casting a net in the sea; for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, "Follow Me, and I will make you become fishers of men." Immediately they left their nets and followed Him, " Audemande of Jerusalem quoted to the hot, humid air of the castle terrace overlooking the sea, watching the distant figures of the fishermen who still plied their trade on the mostly calm waters. Still fishing, as they had probably been fishing during the time of Christ. But this was not the Sea of Galilee – it was the Mediterranean. It should have been the sea of Galilee, and where Audemande was sitting now the castle of Tiberias, but it was not. Instead she was in Tripoli, at Raymond's castle there, watching the sea and the gulls and the fishing boats and the children running along the shore.

It was strange how much things stayed the same here in Outremer. The fishermen, the tides, the wind. And yet, at the same time how much things changed. Audemande was, after many years in the Holy City, used to desert places. But Tripoli was no desert place. To be truthful, Aude hadn't seen this much water in one place since she'd come east from Jaffa all those years ago. _I swore then that I'd never love the sea again, _the Little Dove remembered with a smile. _But the promises of a child are easily broken._

"Out here again, Audemande? You'll sicken in the sun -- the heat can be the death of men," Eschiva, formerly of Tiberias, Princess of Galilee and wife of Raymond, said motheringly, joining her young companion out on the terrace, her hair tucked up under a white veil to deflect the sun's heat.

"I am in the shade, 'Chiva," Aude said pointedly, gesturing to the striped awning over her head, which was at least obscuring some of the sun's heat. "And besides that, there is the sea breeze."

The Princess of Galilee rolled her eyes and sat down in a nearby chair. "What were you working on?" Eschiva asked, motioning to the open pot of ink and the parchments nestled underneath a collection of smooth stones, a book spread-eagled open over them.

"Translations," Aude said, closing the book and passing it to the Lady of Tiberias.

"Still practicing your Greek?" Eschiva asked, inspecting the volume and opening it.

"My tutor comes tomorrow, and I fear I have not yet progressed far enough for his liking. Of course this will not bother him, but it will bother me. He will rail about how women are weak when it comes to scholarly pursuits, and I will, of course, work harder next time, and of course I will fail him, and we will begin the whole dance again," the younger woman said with a smile.

"Take a respite from your work," Eschiva urged. "Go down and charm the men while you watch my husband heckle them. Be a young woman instead of this creature of the dusty volumes you've become."

"Was marrying off your sons not enough?" Aude asked with a smile. Eschiva's four sons were already all married, and it was a running joke between them that Audemande was becoming her fifth child in their absence. Hugh, Eudes, Raoul, and William were all Eschiva's children by her first marriage to Walter de Saint Omer, and she had borne no children to Tiberias. Audemande had already felt something like a daughter to Raymond in Jerusalem -- now here in Tripoli she was fast taking the Princess of Galilee on as her second mother.

"No, marrying sons off is never enough when there are daughters to be trifled with," Eschiva said promptly. "They say Richard of England is coming to make a crusade for Jerusalem -- perhaps he'll bring a knight worthy of the Little Dove's affections."

"Oc-Et-Non, come to a decision on something? I doubt Richard's intentions are fully there yet," the Court Poet said sarcastically. England's king was famous for his indecision, hence his nickname, Yes-and-No. "Besides, I'm tired of crusading men," Audemande said bitterly. "Give me a man of peace, and that will make me happy."

Eschiva laughed. "We are not in the land for peaceful men, Aude, nor the time for such a man to live. I think the world had done with peaceful men when Christ was crucified."

"And that is why I shall remain at my books, 'Chiva," the Little Dove said finally."Let the men come to me, if that is their desire." Eschiva sighed, and rose from her chair, dusting a stray hair from her dress.

"Have you composed any new poetry lately?" she asked conversationally. Audemande shook her head no. "I very much enjoyed reading your collection. It was so nice of your brother to copy it down for you."

Audemande nodded -- Gregory's last gift to her had been a beautifully copied manuscript of all her poems, with some very fine illuminations on some of the pages. He must have been working on it the entire time he was in Jerusalem, and it was one of her best-loved books. One of the only books that had made the journey with her to Tripoli -- the rest had been left behind, too heavy to bring along. "He wanted a gift for me before he left for home. Something besides letters to remember him by."

"It was a beautiful gift," Eschiva agreed. "Have you had word, from home, about him?"

"No," Aude said sadly. The last she'd seen of Gregory was her brother in his black Benedictine habit waving goodbye from the deck of a ship bound for Cyprus. Men were lost at sea all the time -- it would not be a stretch of the imagination to assume him dead en route back to France.

The Lady of Tiberias laid her hand on Audemande's shoulder. "The Lord will provide. The Lord always provides."

Aude nodded silently, and Eschiva left to oversee her castle, the wind and the sea Aude's only companions once more. The former Court Poet of Jerusalem looked out at the water and sighed. The old urge to write was stirring in her, helped on by Eschiva's urging, but something still did not feel right. She could not compose a new poem until the last one was finished, and the story of Montigisard would never be finished until it was told. That could never be -- the man who should have listened to the story and delighted in it was now dead.

Tripoli was not a place for poets, at least not poets used to the urbane bustle of Jerusalem -- there was a thriving market there, bolstered by the commerce coming in by sea, but few booksellers beyond those buying and selling dilapidated Hebrew texts. And there were fewer audiences, too. Saladin's siege had taken away the feeling of security needed to sit down and enjoy a poem. There were no ladies here with idle time and idle minds to listen to romances and epics and see their beauty. The ladies, the wives of Tripoli's remaining men and the widows of those who did not remain, were busy women, with no time for silly things like poetry. Aude knew she should have been one of them, a lowly knight's wife with a babe in her belly every year and a household to run. And yet she was not married, not running a house, did not really even know how to run one, since her mother had never finished teaching her. How had she evaded Fate's wheel like that? How had she changed her stars?

_Who are we in the world of men to know the will of God? Who are we in the world of men to know where He has trod?_ The rhyme came unbidden to her head, a product of too many years of composing verse. Little more than a ditty -- nothing to start something with. Aude quickly cast it aside, and turned her mind back to the Greek letters swimming in front of her like fish in a sea of text. Now to pluck them out and read them.

She was just setting her quill back down on the parchment again when one of the pages knocked on the open door. "Please, Lady Audemande, there is a man in the courtyard and my lord Count Raymond desires you be there to greet him."

_Is it God's will today that I get no work done_? Audemande wondered in pure annoyance. "Who is this man?" she asked, a little shortly.

"He comes with great boxes from Jerusalem, my lady, and my Lord Tripoli speaks to him in Arabic," the page said.

Raymond speaking Arabic was no important feat, but great boxes? Curiosity piqued, Aude gathered up her robes and made certain none of her parchments could fly away before walking confidently in the direction of the courtyard.

A caravan was milling about in the open area before the castle's main doors, with porters and servants unloading several large parcels from the pack camels. "They are for you, my lady," one of the servants said, motioning to the nearest open bundle. She peeled back the coarse cloth wrapping a larger box, opening it gently, and quickly drawing back in awe at the contents. "My books!" she exclaimed, running a reverent hand over the carefully packed spines. She had left too many behind in Jerusalem, her protector desiring speed over the salvation of material goods. "You do not know, sir, what this means to me," She said, addressing the man who looked as though he were in charge of directing the operation.

Audemande looked up and found, to her great surprise, that she recognized the leader of the caravan, though his face today was framed, not with a turban and veil to keep out the sun, but with a helmet that obscured just a little of his handsome face, lending him a very military air. "Nasir?" Audemande tested -- the man smiled, nodding slightly. "Or is it General Imad Al Din today?" The Little Dove inquired with a hint of laughter. The first time they had met Nasir had been in disguise, traveling with an emissary of Saladin to Jerusalem, and she had only learned his real name after Raymond had accidentally revealed it; The two men had known each other when Raymond was a captive in Aleppo many years ago, and they were something of good friends.

"Unfortunately, my lady, today I am the General, and not merely a visiting poet, else I would stay a little longer." He gestured with one gloved hand to the packages in the yard, being unloaded from several camels by a swarm of servants. "I found these books and decided they were better back in your hands. I saw you do not have many Arabic texts, and so I have added a few volumes of my own. I also saw from your notes that you have begun studies, and I wished to help them," He explained. Aude blushed -- she had left her scant few notes on Arabic in Jerusalem when she had fled before the siege with Raymond's household, and she had not given much thought to studying the language once more. Yet here was Imad Al Din, chancellor, advisor, and poet, telling her to begin again.

"I am still a very young student of your tongue, General, and I read it very poorly. But I thank you, anyway, for the gift," she offered.

"I will see that you are sent a good grammar, then, so that you may read some of the poetry I have left you," Nasir said with a slim smile.

"You have left me poetry?" Audemande asked, touched that he would think of including something so personal in this luggage. The general nodded. "You know me too well, General. Perhaps one day we could share our poetry, you and I. Although I am sure you would find mine ridiculous," Aude assured him.

"You would probably find mine ridiculous as well, Lady," Nasir answered obligingly with a smile.

"It would not be so different than comparing holy books, then, would it?" Audemande asked, grinning mischievously. It was a common subject of debate between them, the few times they had met. The Arab nodded, his own smile still very genuine.

"It would not be any different, Lady, and I would treasure it just as much. Alas that my master would have me return to Jerusalem with my riders, as soon as can be contrived."

"The responsibilities of war," Audemande said sadly. "I understand." Something strange stirred in Aude's breast; something about the way he had said 'treasure.' Her heart had made a strange flutter and she knew not from what. No, that was not true. She did know-- She had written it often enough to know its name. _But I am not in love with the Lord Nasir_, she assured herself. _And it is highly unlikely he is in love with me, a _franj_ woman_."Perhaps we will see each other again," she proposed, her voice straining from sounding oddly hopeful. "In a time of peace."

"I do not foresee peace in the near future, Lady Audemande. I fear the only place we will ever meet again is in Heaven," Nasir admitted.

"In my heaven or yours, General?" Aude asked with a jesting grin.

The General's smile widened. "Perhaps, to spite our petty feuds on Earth, God will show us they are the same," Nasir suggested with a chuckle. "Then we would be no different at all."

"And will we compose poetry in the midst of the Gardens of Paradise?" Audemande asked hopefully.

The General nodded decidedly. "Yes," he said. "I think we would."

"Do not let us detain you here – return to your master, and wish him joy in his victory," Raymond said, breaking the conversation short. "We hold no ill will over Jerusalem. Baldwin would have wished it so."

"I will give him your compliments," Nasir said, nodding to the Count and then to Audemande, spurring his horse back into the desert, back on the road to Jerusalem.

Aude watched him leave with his men, staring after them until the trail of dust in their wake began to settle back into the ground, leaving the path as it had been before their arrival.

"He'll be back," Tiberias predicted blandly, turning to go back inside. Aude hadn't noticed he remained outside with her, and turned to look at him, a little confused.

"What makes you say that? You heard how the Sultan keeps him in Jerusalem."

"This was a private matter, Audemande," Tiberias observed, ascending the steps with care – his old leg wound seemed to be troubling him again. "He did not need to bring the books to you -- and yet here he was. He will be back," Raymond repeated with what passed for him as a smile.

Audemande frowned for a moment and then glanced again at the books, the smile returning to her face. "Oh, bring them inside and we will unpack them!" she commanded, filled with something very much like joy. It was something she had not felt full of in quite some time.

* * *

"What do you think of all of this, Mirrum?" Audemande asked the petite little maidservant who was helping her unpack the books, another remnant of the Jerusalem establishment Tiberias had taken in when they had left the city. She had been one of Sybilla's, Aude thought, a sweet and silent little thing. She didn't remember seeing her much, but that wasn't unusual. The Ghost -- that was what Sybilla had called her once. Strange nickname, for a girl, at least.

"The books, my lady?" Mirrum asked. Audemande nodded. "They are...very handsome, the ones from Lord Nasir." She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but held her tongue -- Audemande knew enough about secrets not to ask what the little maid's were, but judging by the way she turned through one of Audemande's books, the Court Poet suspected the girl could read. _I'll have to remember that when I leave my work about_, Aude noted. _I don't remember what her tongue was like for gossiping_.

"So much of the world, contained in so little space," Aude said, stroking a page filled with a single beautiful illumination. "And so much of it still unknown," she said, turning the page to confront the alien strokes of the Arabic lettering sprawling across the paper.

"You'll have many lessons ahead of you then, my lady," Mirrum said quietly, going back to shelving the volumes in silence. Aude turned her attention back to the lower shelves, stacking the taller volumes away in near perfect lines. The room faded back into a contented silence until the maidservant cleared her throat, as though she wanted to say something.

"That poem about Baldwin, my lady -- did you ever finish it?" Mirrum asked, shaking Aude unexpectedly from her reverie.

"What?" The court poet asked, momentarily confused. "How did you know about that?" The only people who had ever heard Montgisard were Baldwin and Sybilla. Mirrum hung her head and turned away, looking as guilty as any servant who had ever listened at a keyhole.

"Forgive me, my lady," the maid mumbled, turning her gaze to the floor. Aude nodded sternly, turning back to her pile of books again.

"It is not your place to ask such things, Mirrum. My work is my own. There shall be no more talk of poetry, today or any other day."

"Of course, my lady," the servant agreed, finishing her work and leaving as quickly and quietly as she came, seeing in the way that all good servants do that her mistress wished to see no more of her for the day. _She learned something from Sybilla's service, at least_, Aude thought as she glanced at the retreating girl. _And I learned more from Sybilla than court intrigue, it seems. My tongue wasn't always this sharp_.

But the question still disturbed her -- what right did Mirrum have to ask about it? She would not share that poem with anyone, least of all a servant girl. _She did not know Baldwin as I did. She could not appreciate the man behind the words._ In fact, Aude doubted anyone could. All the men who knew him as she knew him were either dead or dying. Baldwin the Forth would be lost with them, another dusty name for a kingdom slowly turning back to dust. Except in the books, of course, where it would be forever remembered. Aude searched the shelf for her tutor's last work, finally finding William of Tyre's History and pulling it down from the shelf. The pages of the heavy volume were just beginning to spread apart, as all books do with age, and the clasps were still tight, the mark of a book that has not been opened too many times.

"_Remember him...as you imagined him, Audemande. As he would have wanted you to remember him."_ Sybilla's entreaty outside the dead king's door came back to her as William's words about the young Baldwin traced the page.

_"He made good progress in his studies and as time passed he grew up full of hope and developed his natural abilities. He was a good-looking child...He had an excellent memory and he loved listening to stories..."_

_How I wish I could tell you stories again, friend. I have no one left to listen to my tales_, Aude mused silently. She did not leave her room for the rest of the afternoon, wrapped up in traveler's dust and a historian's memories, reliving happier times with her books.

* * *

This chapter, for me, was a bit like stepping out onto extremely thin ice. But my characters are already in the middle of the lake, shouting "Join us! Join us! You know you want to come out here!" So here we are. I checked out a lot of books, frightened my father into thinking I was going to convert to Islam myself, and moaned to anyone who would listen about how hard this was going to be. But it started getting easier. In the coming chapters, you'll meet Tiberias' nephew (whom I hope you'll hate) a concubine-turned-tutor (whom I hope you'll love) and several wonderful Arabic poets, including the famous Abu Nuwas.

Thanks also to Petit Parapluie, who loaned me Mirrum without first asking what I was going to do with her. Your trust in me is overwhelming. Mirrum's pretty awesome on her own, and if you haven't read Tu Salus Fidelium, DO. It's excellent. (This chapter also might make a little more sense to you – Audemande's whole conception of Mirrum's relationship with Baldwin is something of a massive inside joke.)

*holds out begging bowl* Reviews? They'll be used to fuel my laptop so I can WRITE MORE.


	23. Chapter 23

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Twenty Three – From One Poet To Another

* * *

In the coming days, Tiberias was proved wrong -- it was not the General who came back, but rather one of his lieutenants, leading another figure behind him on a pale brown horse. After a brief conversation with Tiberias in his study, the man left, leaving behind the entity in the heavy cloak and no further clues as to who he was or why his companion had been left here. No more was heard from Raymond until a scant quarter hour later, when Audemande was summoned to the study.

The cloaked person had dropped the hood, revealing a woman, still veiled beneath her traveling cloathes, one secret swathed in still more secrets. Audemande glanced at her before looking questioningly at Tiberias.

"Raymond, what is this?" she asked, some part of her half expecting a joke or jester of some kind to reveal himself underneath the hood with a loud shout and laughter.

"She is for you, Audemande. A gift from Lord Nasir," Tiberias explained.

"A gift? The gift of a woman?" It almost seemed laughable -- one woman to another woman. What would Nasir have been thinking to send such a ... gift?

The woman said something in Arabic, and Tiberias rolled his eyes. "She says she is to be your tutor. Nasir has sent her to teach you Arabic."

Audemande nodded, still disbelieving. "He tells me he shall send a book of grammar, and he sends instead a living library."

The woman responded, rather pertly, it sounded to Audemande, and Tiberias laughed, nodding in answer to her. "Yes, it is true. But she is young. Have pity, madame."

"Why do you laugh at me?" Audemande asked, looking between the woman and Count Raymond.

"She wished to point out to you that Arabic is extremely hard to learn without someone who speaks it, but that if you wished she could go back to Jerusalem." The woman added something else. "She doubts, however, that this is the case," Tiberias translated wryly. Audemande nodded once, smiling herself.

"Very well then." She turned to one of Tiberias' clerks, motioning the man closer. "Inform the steward there is a new servant in the household, and she belongs to me and my command. Come," she said, beckoning the woman.

The visitor said something, and Audemande looked at Tiberias. "I hear and obey," the Count translated with a hint of smile. "Well, go on!" he urged, sitting back down in his chair as though he expected them to leave. "I have work to do!"

Audemande led the woman back to her quarters, feeling the entire time as though she were being watched by a very hungry hawk, a not altogether comforting feeling in light of the fact that it was coming from the woman who was to teach her. Once behind Audemande's closed study door, the woman pulled a curiously folded note from her pack, presenting it silently to Aude. The Little Dove took it hesitantly, opening it and reading the curvy, artistic hand carefully.

"Most radiant among students, Audemande of Jerusalem, greetings! As I have promised, so have I done. Here is your grammar, and a tutor to instruct you. Her name is Khazuran, and she has been a member of my household for many years. Your need for her, however, is greater than mine, and so I make her a gift to you. As God goes with your studies, so my heart and wishes for luck go out to you."

Beneath this message, a grand flower of script blossomed on the page -- presumably Nasir's signature, done in flawless calligraphy. _Beautiful,_ Aude thought to herself. _Perhaps someday I may write my name thus_. Audemande carefully folded the note up again and looked up at the woman, who had taken off her veil now that there were no men present. She looked older than Aude, probably in her thirties, but her expression suggested a much, much older soul.

"So," Audemande began, setting Nasir's note aside. "You are here to teach me and your name is Khazuran."

"This is the truth, _cha'ira_," the woman Khazuran said in slightly accented French with a slight bow of her head, her eyes fixed on Aude. They were fierce eyes -- Aude knew the look of a determined woman well enough.

"_Cha'ira_?"

"It means poetess," Khazuran explained simply.

"_Cha'ira_," Audemande repeated. Khazuran shook her head and pronounced the word again, the stop in the middle of the word almost gutteral. Aude tried again, trying to choke out the middle as Khazuran had done, and her new tutor smiled a little.

"Better," she admitted. Aude raised an eyebrow, highly skeptical that the praise was entirely genuine.

"You already seem to know something of me," the Little Dove observed. "And I find I know nothing of you, Khazuran. Tell me of yourself," Aude commanded, sitting down and sending another servant for something to eat. "From whence do you come?"

"From the house of Nasir Imad al Din Aluh al Kitab al Isfahani, my lady. This was made know to you by my lord in his letter."

_God in heaven, what a long name! I'd never realized there was more to it than how he was addressed._ "And were you born there? What is your country, your people?"

"I am from Isfahan, but my people are unknown to me -- I am _yateema_, an orphan. I became a member of my lord's father's household when I was very young."

"Then how did a woman --an orphan, no less -- come to know so much that she might teach another? And to speak French?" Audemande asked, her curiosity aroused.

"Nasir -- My Lord," she substituted quickly, looking down at her teacup, "taught me." _Why does she use his name? _Audemande wondered. _Was she more than a servant?_

"He taught you, a woman? I always understood that was frowned upon among the Muslims," she probed, watching the Saracen woman sip her tea.

"I was his servant, when he was only a young man, and learning it himself. He taught it to me because it helped him learn."

"You have known him a long time, then," Aude prompted, carefully choosing the route she would take to the question she most wanted answered now.

"Yes, a long time," Khazuran said reminiscently.

"And have you always been his...servant?" Audemande asked delicately, piecing together the rest of the puzzle now. Khazuran took her meaning, and looked knowingly at Aude.

"There was a time when I was something else. Those days are over. He has others now."

"I see," Aude said blandly. It was not so uncommon among the Muslims to have that sort of arrangement. He had sent her a concubine, a former concubine, to teach her his tongue. She wasn't quite sure what to make of this. "So. Where do we begin?"

Khazuran smiled, and set her teacup aside. "Ah…_Alif_." she said, sitting up a little straighter and drawing the bag she had been carrying closer to her to rummage through it.

"_Alif_," Aude repeated slowly, rolling the sound over her tongue. "And what does that mean?"

"It is the first letter. _Alif_. It means nothing...and everything. That is where we begin. It is the first letter of Allah, and Allah must begin all things," Khazuran said briefly, pulling a sheet of beautifully white paper from her bag. The servants, knowing full well when a lesson was about to begin, took the tea tray away and gently wiped the table clean, making sure it was dry before the paper was set on it. Another gesture from Audemande brought her own writing case to the table.

"_Alif_," Audemande repeated again, taking out her ink. Khazuran nodded, motioning to the paper on the table and drawing out a reed from her bag. When Audemande reached for her quills, the woman stopped her, holding out the reed again.

"Not the quill. This is the pen you will use for your Arabic."

"Why?" Aude asked, looking askance at the uncut reed and wondering how she would ever write with something as ponderous as the river stem.

"Thus it has always been done," Khazuran said plainly, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. Reluctantly, Aude took the reed from her new teacher. "You are not learning a language merely, my lady, but a tradition. Now," Khazuran ordered, "Drop it on the table."

Aude let the reed drop, letting it roll until it stopped. "Take your knife," Khazuran said, handing the small blade to Audemande, "And cut the nib, from the side that has landed up. That is where any curve will be. About as long as your thumb will do. And then the slit-- good. Now you have made your first _qalam._ And now we begin with_ alif_. A single stroke downwards. It also means a single thing, one."

Aude dipped her pen into the ink with a delicate maneuver, practiced with many quill pens, and blotted the _qalam_ before setting the pen to the paper, making her single strong stroke. Khazuran nodded. "Good. That is _alif_ as it stands alone. You will learn three more positions for each letter, for the beginning, the middle, and the end of a word. Now we will write the second letter. _Ba_. A short stroke down, and curve to the left. Then a dot below. That is _Ba,_ the letter which begins the prayer of all prayers. _Bismi Allahi al-Rahmani al-Rahymi_. In the name of Allah, the Mercy-giving, the Merciful. It means two."

And on they went, through all twenty eight letters of the Arabic alphabet. Then they began again with the initial forms, and then the medial, and finally the finial, some 112 characters in all. When Audemande had finally finished, Khazuran looked at her work and smiled. "Now begin again," she said, handing Aude another sheet of paper. The Little Dove looked at her tutor, shook her head, and set her reed back down to the paper again.

This was the first day's lesson, and the lesson for many more days after, until Aude's calligraphy was very close to flawless. Looking over the last in a long line of practice pages, Khazuran smiled, pleased. "Now we may begin to teach you Arabic."

* * *

I don't speak Arabic. I don't go to a school where they teach Arabic. I can't seem to find anyone who speaks Arabic. I've been trying and I can't even find so much as an Arabic grammar, so if these language lessons are absolutely ridiculous, you now know why. I'm relying on some online dictionaries (transliterated dictionaries, at that) and a book on the Arabic script, from whence cometh the _alif/ba_ lesson. It's called "Arabic Script," it's by an author named Gabriel Mandel Khan, and it's really quite fascinating.

IF YOU DO SPEAK ARABIC and you're willing to perhaps help me, say so in a review or a PM.

Reviews, as always, will be fed to my muses. Flames will be used to defrost my fingers so I can write more. And please, please, please! Wherever you are, I'd love to hear what you think. I'm getting hits on this story from countries I don't think about very often when I think about my readership, and I really, really want to know what you think!


	24. Chapter 24

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Twenty-Four: As He Really Was

* * *

_There is probably no more terrible instance of enlightenment than the one in which you discover your father is a man — with human flesh. – Frank Herbert's Dune_

_

* * *

  
_

When Audemande went to bed the first night after Khazuran's arduous character drawing lesson, she dreamed in scrolling, elegant curves, trails of smoke and wisps of cloud forming in and out of letters she could not understand fully. Now, nearly a month later, she could read her dreams, though she knew they were not in Arabic, merely French words in Arab script. Like water pouring into a pool the words swept down to engulf her, whispering and taunting her. _Learn us. Learn our language._

The script accomplished, Khazuran began to teach her verbs and how to conjugate, the tenses and genders which were not so different from the French and Latin she already knew, forming the simplest of sentences. _I thirst. I write. I played. She wrote. She will teach._ When she had mastered these, Khazuran began adding nouns to the daily lengthening lists of words Aude should memorize, use if she could in daily conversation. She spooked to Tiberias at dinner when she asked for the salt in her newfound tongue; the Count looked at her sharply, half expecting the words to have come from someone else.

"_Did you speak, Audemande?"_ The Count asked, sitting up cautiously and querying her in Arabic, testing her.

"_Yes, my lord. I spoke."_ She could not help but answer his challenge back.

Tiberias sat back in his chair, smiling, the rest of the dinner table (Eschiva) at odds with the scene, her husband and guest speaking words she could not understand. "_Your accent is good. He will be pleased."_

Aude bowed her head at the compliment, taking the salt and returning to her dinner.

Eschiva was frowning, looking at her husband for some sort of explanation. "Raymond, what…"

"Aude is merely practicing, 'Chiva," Tiberias said blandly. "Lord Nasir will come within the month to discuss the state of our treaty. I'm sure he will be very pleased then to hear of your progress."

"So soon?" Eschiva asked, talking more about the treaty than the prospect of the visiting dignitary. Tiberias nodded, his face curiously stretched, the already gaunt skin tense around his mouth, trying not to betray himself. _Are things really so bad with Saladin?_ Aude wondered, her mirth at having bewildered Raymond for that one moment gone.

"It is better this way, 'Chiva," Raymond assured his wife, patting her hand. "I've asked Bohemund to send Young Raymond to help me, a little, in the coming days."

"Young Raymond?" Aude asked. Bohemund, she knew, was Tiberias' cousin, the Prince of Antioch and a good friend, but Young Raymond was a new name. _What does Tiberias need help with? He is not so frail that he cannot govern…is he?_

Suddenly Audemande saw Tiberias not as the strong, sensible man who had practically governed Jerusalem and guided her for the past five years, but as what he really was – an old man with the battle wounds of his youth finally catching up with him. She had noticed it before, but before it had made little impression – a heavier limp there, a coughing fit here, a pause for a breath halfway when climbing the stairs. Eschiva knew it, and now Audemande was realizing it, too – Raymond was dying. He should have been the one going to Jerusalem, to Saladin, to negotiate his peace. But Saladin was instead sending his messengers here, to Raymond.

"Bohemund's son," Tiberias said in response to Aude's query. "It's nothing serious, just for a few months. The boy could use the practice. How old would he be now, 'Chiva?" he asked, clearly trying to divert at least his wife away from the daunting possibility that he might not be as capable as he once was.

Eschiva thought for a moment, counting mentally and trying to remember the single event of a birth in the midst of many other events. "Oh, twenty or so, I expect. Near enough to Audemande's age," she said with a smile. It was the kind of smile Audemande was coming to hate – it meant that Eschiva was thinking about matchmaking again.

"I'm twenty-three, 'Chiva. And besides, it's not_ fashionable_ to marry younger men," Aude said with an insolent grin, half mocking any idea that she would follow any kind of fashion insofar as marriage was concerned.

"He is much lauded in Antioch, Audemande, and will have the inheritance," the Princess of Galilee said with the same conniving smile, bound and determined already to make this work. "Am I not right, Raymond?" Eschiva asked, looking to her husband for support. Raymond nodded vaguely, his mind clearly elsewhere. "Do not rid yourself of the idea, Aude, until you've met him."

"Of course, Eschiva," Aude said dutifully, going back to her dinner and praying, fervently, for a silent remainder for the night.

Lessons continued, suns rose and set. And then he came, the much-talked about Raymond Younger, with his knights and his banners and his zeal for God. _Every inch what a warrior for God should look like in a poem_, Aude thought to herself. _A poem written by a woman too silly to know better at the time_, she added bitterly. To think she'd once believed in all this pomp. "Remy! Oh, how is my favorite godson?" Eschiva said, smiling widely and embracing the tall young man warmly despite the armor he wore, which must have been radiating heat after the long ride from his father's country.

"Very well, thank you, Godmother. Godfather," Raymond of Antioch, called Remy, said, bowing to his godfather-uncle in very formal fashion.

"Remy," Tiberias said, thumping his nephew on the back and smiling with pride.

_Oh, he is young,_ Audemande thought to herself, making her court-perfected curtsey for him as his eyes turned towards her. _Young and as all young men are_. A scrabble of dark beard, longer hair in the affectation of a courtly style, a certain way of carrying himself that made him seem a little taller than he was. More of a play-actor at being a knight than a knight in itself. _And how I hate his kind._ One could see a sort of familial resemblance to Tiberias, in the shape of his face and the cut of his shoulders, but the similarity was hardly there at all when one stepped back to compare to the Count.

"I do not think you have met Lady Audemande, Raymond's ward," Eschiva said, gesturing to Aude with the same sweet smile. Remy gave another bow, looking at her so intently it might have almost been a stare.

"We have heard stories of the Lady Dove even in Antioch, my lady," he said, smiling sycophantically. "It will be an honor to hear your poetry in person." His eyes were dark, but when he smiled some integral part of his face never moved – the smile never reached his eyes.

She had only known him for moments, and already Audemande knew in her heart that everything he said from this moment onward would a lie, or at least something very near to one.

* * *

"He likes you, Raymond's godson does. I know his look," Khazuran observed as they sat back down to their lessons, opening the books again. Tutor and student had taken a well-deserved break for a midday meal, and, in Khazuran's case, prayers, and while they were returning to Aude's study room had been accosted by Lord Raymond on the stairs. Audemande had pretended to be deaf while Khazuram, in her thick veil, had kept her place behind the Frankish lady, silent and nearly invisible to the disdainful eyes of Remy.

"Yes, and I hate him," Aude said pertly.

"You have known him but for a matter of weeks!" Khazuran argued. "And hate is a very strong word."

"I do not need to know him intimately to know I hate him," Aude emphasized. "He is the very worst kind of knight. Untried, and at the first test, untrue. He fights for something he does not understand, because his father or his uncles tell him it is right, and he cannot explain himself, because he has no reasons of his own. He does not care for stories, though he may say otherwise, unless they are tales of glory, and does not bother to improve his mind except at very shallow pursuits. He is the kind I wrote about once, when I was young and did not know better," Aude said shortly. Khazuran nodded.

"Perhaps, then, it would be better to return to our lessons, and leave the disagreeable young man to his own devices," she suggested.

"You are full of wisdom, Khazuran, and history should note you," Aude said broadly, refocusing herself on the pages before her.

"Where were we before midday interrupted?" the tutor asked, glancing over the book. "Ah, yes, the different types of poetry. Do you remember them, Audemande?"

"There is the _ghazal,_ the love poem, the _fahkr_, the boasting poem for himself or his people, the _madih_, the boasting poem for his patron or his lord, the _hija'_, the poem of ridicule…"Aude ticked off on her fingers, trying to remember more.

"You forget the most important. 'Sing, then, of the open spaces left by my beloved in my heart!'" Khazuran quoted musically, attempting to prompt her student.

"The _qasida_! The ode, which begins oftentimes with the invocation about the lost beloved. The _madih_ can be part of the _qasida_, usually coming at the end," Aude recalled. "And there are the _rubi'ayyt_, though that is only a form, and not a type of poem."

"How many lines must the _qasida_ have?" Khazuram quizzed.

"Ten, at the least, and at the most eighty."

"Good. And the word for the collection into which the poetry is put?"

"The _diwan_."

"Read for me a little of this treatise my lord has sent over and see if you agree," Khazuram said, handing over a tidy sheaf of papers. Aude picked up the first one and scanned the first line, forming the words in her head and then unforming them in her native tongue, mentally translating.

"He who wishes to become a secretary, and has a …responsive nature, should memorize collections of poetry containing a great number of poems, and …not… be …content! with only a few. He should then begin by decomposing the poems he has memorized. His method should be to begin with one of the odes, and put into prose each of its verses in turn. At the …start? The first? The beginning! At the beginning he should not disdain using the very words of the verse, or most of them; for at this point, this is all he can do. By … exercising his mind and training it, he will rise above this level, and begin to take the idea and clothe the idea with a variety of personal expressions…"

"_Stop there,"_ Khazuram commanded. Aude looked up, setting the paper aside. "Well?" the tutor prompted. "Do you feel likewise?"

"I agree that an understanding of poetry comes from memorization and reflection, but breaking it down into prose seems to me a little silly. A river cannot be understood by damming it up; it behaves differently that way. The same with language – in a poem it behaves one way, in prose another."

"It is not necessary that you agree with him," Khazuram stated, though her voice sounded as though she, too, agreed. "This Ibn al Athir is young, still – your age, I think, or a little older – and my Lord wished you to see what some of the young men your own age are thinking about in Damascus and Bagdad. He goes on later to say that the memorization of prose is inadequate for study, since the greatest works of the world are done in poetic form."

"Of course on that point he is correct," Audemande said cheekily. Her tutor smiled benignly at her, chuckling to herself.

"Trust a poet to say that."

Khazuran was just handing over another poem to copy out and translate when there was a sharp knock at the door – Aude's qalam skittered across the paper at the interrupting sound, and she threw the reed pen down in disgust, shouting in Arabic towards the door. "_What is it?"_

"My lady…" a young man's voice said in French, clearly confused about what he had just heard. Aude looked towards the door to see Remy's squire standing there, what looked like a message clenched in his hand.

"What is it?" Aude repeated, in French this time so the squire could understand. Why Young Raymond insisted on taking these pilgrims' sons as squires was beyond her – they were simple and could only speak one language, that of their motherland, compared to the noble sons of the Frankish Levant, who grew up with French speaking parents and Arabic nursemaids and servants.

"My lord Raymond wonders if you will accompany him on the hunt tomorrow. He has purchased a new hawk and wishes to see if it suits you."

_Hawks and hunts? Who taught this man how to woo a woman? The Roman Diana? "_Tell my lord Remy," Aude said carefully, using the godson's nickname so she could be explicit about who it was she was turning down, "that I will not go to hunt with them tomorrow."

The squire looked a little flustered, clearly having been hoping for an affirmative answer to bring back to his lord. "He also bids me give you this," he said, holding out an inelegantly folded slip of paper. Aude took it quickly from his hands and tossed it aside. The squire should have left, but he instead stood at Aude's elbow, clearly expecting something. When she turned to glare at him, his nerve broke and he asked, rather shakily, "Is there any reply?"

"No," Aude said shortly, going back to her work. Khazuram was smiling discreetly as the boy left, never taking her eyes off her tutor.

"Eschiva will wonder why you are not riding out with the hunt," the tutor remarked lightly, watching her student copy out verse. "You used to enjoy it very much before Lord Raymond came."

"As long as Raymond continues to try wooing me with it I will not ride out," Aude stated flatly. "And if Eschiva should ask, as I know she will, tell her I am ill. I will take my meal in my room tonight," she said, over her shoulder, to Mirrum, waiting obediently in the corner for her mistress' demands. "That should satisfy her inquiries for now. I have more work to do."

"Not more of my work," Khazuram said with a smile, rising from the work table. "We are finished for the day. I have never known anyone to study as hard as you do, Audemande, even in Lord Nasir's house, where that family was known for piety and study."

"Study is all I have, Khazuram. It is what I must do."

"Must do, my lady?" the tutor probed gently.

"To show the men I am just as good as they are. Just as intelligent, just as gifted, just as sinful. Eve may have given us sin, but she didn't give us stupidity as well. That is equal parts man and woman. God gave me a gift – I must use it."

"But remember, lady, that God gives you many gifts, and God gives all of them so you may do God's will," Khazuram stated simply, rising from her couch and leaving.

Audemande finished three more poems and the rest of the page Khazuran had entreated her to read before she glanced again at the window and saw that it was dark outside. Khazuran had long since come back inside, and the maidservants were making preparations to go to bed themselves. Mirrum had lit the lamp without her noticing, and now she was closing up the shutters – a signal that it was time to seriously consider going to bed. It was not economical, Eschiva was fond of telling her, to work too long after the sun had gone down. "Besides, you'll strain your eyes over that oil lamp and go blind," the lady of Tripoli would remind her.

Aude set aside her translations and began to tidy her desk, coming across the note that Remy's squire had given to her earlier. Still unwanted and still a nuisance, Aude thought to herself, unwrapping the tightly rolled tube to read the message within.

It was a poem, a very poorly written poem, utilizing every overused image and ridiculous conceit about a beloved, asking her to take pity on the man who wrote the poem. "Beneath the flowering trees I find you, and your eyes enchant my soul…"

Audemande read the whole poem through once and couldn't help but laugh. Remy, write this? For her?

"What do you laugh at, my lady?" Mirrum asked, her entrance into the room as silent as the ghosts for which she was nicknamed. Aude looked up from the poem, trying to recover her aplomb.

"This? It is a…it is a poem from young Lord Raymond. He writes about things I did not know he even noticed," she said, laughing a little. "My eyes, for instance. I was certain he was staring at something else every time he looked at me."

"Perhaps he was helped with it, my lady," Mirrum suggested softly. Aude sat up in her chair.

"Help?" she repeated, wondering with intense interest what the maidservant could be talking about.

Mirrum misread the interest as accusation, and looked down. "Forgive me, my lady, it is not my place to say such things –"

"Pray please do," Aude prompted, her eyes fixed on the pale girl.

"It is only that I saw young lord Raymond talking with Laudebec the other day," Mirrum offered.

"Laudebec?" The Little Dove repeated, disgusted by the name. "Laudebec the troubadour, Laudebec the writer of crass verse and poor rhyme, Laudebec the sometime fool?" Aude railed, her voice rising to an angry pitch. Remy went to Laudebec for advice on how to write her a love poem? What did a tiny garrison town troubadour know about poetry?

"There is only one Laudebec, Lady," Mirrum said simply, shrugging her shoulders.

Aude frowned. "We're better off that way," she stated heavily. "Did you see what they talked about?"

"A purse was exchanged, my lady, and a…a roll of paper, tightly bound." Mirrum glanced at the poem in Aude's hands. "Like that one."

The Little Dove laughed abruptly. "Not only does he send me terrible poetry, but he doesn't even have the gall to write his drivel himself! Pity, I was about to give him more than his due credit for thinking of such a thing."

"Should you not consider, Lady Audemande, that he did take the time to as Laudebec to write it, thinking the efforts of a real poet would please you more than his?" Mirrum asked.

"If he was thinking of that, Mirrum, he would have found a better poet," Aude said strongly. "He doesn't love me, he loves the idea of me, the idea that he'll marry a woman whose words charmed princes. And even if he did ask Laudebec thinking a "real" poet's poetry would please me, there's no earthly way I could believe all the lies Laudebec put down on this paper. He says here he finds me beautiful – any fool could see when he looks at me he has to hide disgust. I'm not his kind of beautiful. Intelligent? He wouldn't care if I had the brain of a mouse. Virtuous? What does he know of virtue? Talented, sagacious – I'm not certain Laudebec knows what those words mean, let alone Remy. Words are one thing, but his actions speak louder. He'll only play this game as long as it's to his benefit."

"What game?" Mirrum asked, a little confused, sitting down slowly on a nearby stool. She knew a long conversation when she saw one coming. _Oh, you simple girl. Be** glad** that you don't know such things._

"The game of making me believe he's in love with me."

"And what profit is in that game for him?" Mirrum wondered aloud.

"He wants Tripoli and Tiberias – Count Raymond's lands," Audemande explained. "Somehow he thinks I'll get them – as if the Count would be silly enough to cede them to a woman not of his bloodline – and he thinks by marrying me he'll make his claim on Tripoli secure." _I've seen him looking at the maps often enough, watching Tiberias' every cough with hidden pleasure. It's no secret he wants the land._

Mirrum nodded. "How does it make you feel, these…plans on you?" she asked.

"Caged. I'm not that kind of songbird, that I sing on command. I cannot move my heart like that," Aude said flatly. Mirrum nodded again, full of understanding.

"No woman can move her heart to suit the world," the maidservant said softly, and Aude looked longer at her, wondering what she knew of love.

"Did you lose someone, in the siege? Someone you loved?" she inquired, full of a strange curiosity.

The maid was silent for a moment. "I lost him before then, my lady. I am not even sure I ever had him." There was a meditative pause, neither speaking for fear of disturbing the other's thoughts. Finally Mirrum curtseyed to Audemande and left quickly, her work for the evening complete, passing Khazuran on the way out. The tutor was ready for sleeping, her hair braided and her robe exchanged – she wanted to make sure Audemande got to bed at a somewhat reasonable hour.

"What is it you have there, Lady?" she asked, a bit of a yawn creeping into her voice.

"Rubbish," Aude said, crumpling the poem and tossing it onto the hearth. "Not worth the paper it's written on. All I see here are lies. And poorly written, twice told lies at that." She rose from her chair, surveying her desk one last time before removing the oil lamp and going to prepare for bed herself. It was probably better she had told Raymond's squire she was not riding out – she'd need a few days to keep herself from laughing every time she saw the man.

* * *

And now we meet another instigator – Raymond's godson and nephew, Young Raymond, or as he's going to be known in this story, Remy. I'm using him for a number of reasons even though historically, Tiberias sent for his older nephew and got his younger nephew Bohemund instead. First, Remy is older. He'll be about twenty at the time of this story, whereas Bohemund is about sixteen, too young to pose a threat to Audemande. Second, it's much more fun to contrast these two characters with their similar names. And third, historically he was kind of a sore loser.

Mirrum, again, belongs to Petit Parapluie. She's temping here while P. gets her act together at university.

I was going to break this down into two separate chapters to account for the time lapse in the middle, but I thought a 3 page chapter wasn't quite fair. So you get eight instead.

Do I get reviews for keeping your best interests at heart? :D


	25. Chapter 25

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Twenty-Five: The Will of God

* * *

I should warn you, this chapter is a bit heavy on poetry. But I love poetry, so tough. And you're reading chapter twenty five of a story whose principle character is a poet, so if you weren't expecting this, I don't know what to tell you…

* * *

"It was kind of you to stay and keep an old man company while the other young people ride out to hunt," Tiberias said the next morning as they watched Remy and some of the knights from Antioch and Tripoli ride out into the wooded area near the city to hunt, a pack of greyhounds barking and yelping out in front of the mass of riders.

"I cannot claim my reasons for staying home were entirely altruistic, Tiberias," Aude admitted with a sad smile, her heart silently very glad as the barking dogs moved further and further away.

"Still trying to avoid Remy?" Raymond asked, a little incredulous. It had been a constant source of amusement for the Lord of the manor to watch his young ward use every ruse known to man or woman to evade his nephew, who, while not particularly wise, could at the very least be called relentless.

"I will admit that his persistence does him credit, but if you want him to rule Tripoli someday, Raymond, you had better start teaching him how to judge a person's mood. It is a most useful tool for statecraft as well as for love."

"Is that why you are avoiding my nephew? Because he professes love?" The Count must have thought this entirely too amusing – he could not seem to avoid smiling at Aude.

"He professes -- He is not to be believed. He does not love me for the sake of love," Aude stated strongly, making a careful study of the horizon rather than looking at Raymond.

"Why else would he love you?" Raymond asked, still skeptical.

"He wants Tripoli, Raymond." Aude said, turning back to the Lord of Tripoli with a resolute expression, every note of her voice a warning. She watched Tiberias' expression change, as she had watched it change many times over the years when she had reported on court happenings, giving to him the movements outside the council chambers of this lord or that. Remy thought of Aude as Tiberias' daughter, and if that were the case, she would have been given Tripoli. Hence, the way to his desired end was through her, whether a marriage to him was something she desired or not.

The Count of Tripoli sighed. "I would give you Tripoli if I could, Audemande. You have done more to deserve it than either of my nephews. But the law does not allow it – it must go to the nearest male heir."

"I do not want it," Aude assured him with a smile, clasping the count's hand. "And I do not want Remy, either."

"Eschiva worries about your marriage. She never had a daughter to fret about. Do you fancy someone? You know you can tell me anything, Aude -- This old man can still keep secrets," Raymond assured, leaning closer to the Little Dove in the same conspiratorial fashion he had probably leaned across many bargaining tables and seats in council chambers.

"I want a man of peace," Aude said quietly. "This is not the place for such a man."

"Seek him elsewhere, then!" Tiberias declaimed strongly. "You are young, you are strong. You can travel. Where would you go? Byzantium? Italy? Home to France? Tell me, Audemande! If it is your wish, I will send you there!"

Audemande shook her head. "No, not home to France. France is not home, and has not been for a long time. This is my home now."

Raymond took her hand in between both of his, his grateful smile warming Aude's heart "Audemande, you know truly how to flatter an old man. Come, read me some of this poetry you've been working on. Bring me back to younger days." He settled back into his chair, folding his hands over his belly to listen.

Aude racked her brain, trying to think of one of the many poems Khazuran had made her memorize while she was learning them. Finally she remembered one – a poem about poems. Fitting for her, she had thought at the time.

"With a caravan of robes I left Sistan

with robes spun from the heart, woven from the soul

Gowns made of silk which is called Word,

Clothes designed by an artist who is called Tongue

Every stitch was drawn by force from the breast

Every weft separated in torment from the heart.

These are not woven clothes like any other clothes

Do not judge them the same way as others…

This is no cloth that can be spoilt by water

This is no cloth that can be damaged by fire

Its color is not destroyed by the earth's dust

Nor its design effaced by the passing of time."

Raymond clapped, smiling and sitting up a little in his cushioned chair.

"Farrukhi," Audemande said, giving the poet's name in case Raymond should have heard of him before. "He wrote before even the Franks were in the Levant, in the courts of a Persian king named Mahmud. He is one of Nasir's favorite poets… or so Khazuran tells me."

Raymond sighed, smiling a little wider at the name. "Ah, Nasir..." he repeated fondly. "When I was in Aleppo, a very, very young man named Aluh, and sometimes called Nasir, came to read to me. He was…oh, twelve or fourteen at the time, I was thirty. We would play chess together, and he would read to me from a great number of books. That was how I learned Arabic, those ten years in prison. I owe him quite a lot."

"You have never spoken of that time, Tiberias," Aude said, interested. It was well known that the Prince of Galilee had spent a great many years among the Muslims as a captive, after the battle of Harim in 1164. _I was not even born then, and he was waging wars. Time passes so!_

"It was not then a time of joy," Raymond reflected. "I was a young man – I should have been out fighting for my king, my God. Then I was captured, and I spent the prime of my life – ten years! -- in prison getting to know the men I was supposed to kill. They taught me things, things I never would have learned if I had not been there. When I was released, there was a new king, a new world. Looking back I realize God must have planned something for me there."

"Deus lo vult," Aude repeated thoughtfully. _God wills it_.

"Among the Muslims there is a saying – _Inshallah. _God willing. IfGod wills it, then it should be done. In my opinion, this is the wiser. Men should never claim to know the will of God until it's been done upon them," Raymond said bitterly. Aude nodded, mute. She had no answer further than the one he gave. "Go back to your lessons, Little Dove. The sad reminiscences of an old man have no place in the lives of the young. Read more love poetry for me – think on that instead of days that cannot be undone," the Count entreated. Aude rose from her chair, patting her protector's hand and retreating back to her room, where Khazuran was waiting, deep in a project of her own, delicately embroidering a veil. She looked up from her work when Aude stepped inside, bowing her head in acknowledgement.

"My lady did not stay with Count Raymond for very long," she observed, watching her mistress sit back down at her desk.

"No, he asked me to leave him in peace for a while. I will go back, at midday, and take the meal with him."

"When you have finished with your Greek for the day, you may work on that," Khazuran said, slipping a marked volume onto one of the several piles on her workspace. Aude glanced at the book and went back to her Greek, a particularly boring passage out of Plato – the Symposium today. Three pages today, or perhaps four… she was feeling optimistic. But Khazuran's book was taunting her out of the corner of her eye, sitting so dangerously and temptingly close. What use did she have for Plato? She was no philosopher. The poetry, however…

Audemande finished her line and shifted the Symposium and her notes away, taking the Arabic text from the top of the dangerously high stack at the corner of her desk and pouncing greedily upon the marked page, translating it as though to savor it.

It took her the better part of half of the hour, but when she was finished, Aude was pleased, glancing from the squared off French letters on her copy to the flowing Arabic in the original volume.

She turned to her tutor, reading. "I love you with two loves,  
one of passion, one that is your due.  
In the love of passion, I constantly call on your name and no other.  
In the love that is your due, you unveil and let me see you.  
No praise to me for either of these two loves;  
Praise to you alone for both of them," Aude read aloud. Khazuran smiled and then, slowly, put her hands together, clapping gently.

"Masterfully done," she said, sitting up a little straighter. "Rabi'a, I think, would be proud of your translation."

"Rabi'a...This was written by a woman?" Aude asked, surprised, looking down at her page. Suddenly the poem meant so much more to her than just the words about the great love the poet had for another.

"We do not all live behind the veil and do nothing, Audemande. Rabi'a al'Adawiyya was a very holy woman, and wrote much poetry about her relationship to God. She withdrew into the desert near the end of her life, becoming a hermit."

"I thought it was a poem for a lover," Audemande admitted. "She spoke of unveiling, of seeing the true self."

"The true self is always seen in poetry. A wise woman told me once that three things cannot be hidden -- smoke, fire, and a poet's heart. It was always thus with my lord Nasir -- perhaps that was why he chose this poem for you to translate."

"Nasir chose this," Aude repeated, more a statement than a question. The true self is always in poetry, and here was a poem about love. _It was not his poem_, Aude reminded herself sternly. _And besides, there are a great many poems written about love. _Khazuran nodded, studying the younger woman with a strange look in her eyes.

"He is well versed in classical poetry, and knows many such poems by heart. You should ask him to recite some when he comes to visit. He will certainly want to hear you," Khazuran said with a slightly impish smile. "Among the learned a good voice is a blessing, and for a woman, it is a rare quality and well celebrated. You have such a voice, and it does you credit when you perform."

"Recite? There was nothing said about reciting to Lord Nasir!" Aude said, taken aback. It was one thing to recite her own poetry aloud to a party, or her translations to Raymond and Eschiva, but to Nasir? She valued his opinion too much to provide him something as imperfect as her translations – translations he would know better than she did.

"Do you not remember al-Athir's admonition to memorize poetry? When a young boy learns the Qu'ran for the first time, he does so by memorizing it, sura by sura, and reciting it aloud to his elders. It is both work and prayer," the Muslim woman explained.

"_Ora et labora,"_ Aude said with a chuckle. Khazuran's brow narrowed, the Latin foreign to her. "It means prayer and work," Aude explained. "It is the motto of the Benedictine order of monks. My brother is one of them, in France – he began to teach me Latin by reading me the Rule."

"I have heard of these Benedictines. We have no such things as monasteries and monks in Islam. It is not right, to let men and women sequester themselves away for prayer. Life is prayer! Love is prayer! God bade us be fruitful, and the Prophet enjoined us to marry, and have the pleasures of marriage," Khazuran exhorted.

"Why is it you are not married, Khazuran?" the Little Dove inquired, interested now that the subject of marriage should be so rigorously advocated by a woman who was herself unmarried.

"I have no male relatives to give me away, and no bride-price to go with me. I am taken care of by my lord, and he never desired it. I can want for nothing else." Khazuran looked at Audemande with a sideways glance, smiling mischievously. "You, my lady, are also young enough to be married, and yet you are not," She reminded slyly with the air of one who points out that the pot is most certainly calling the kettle black.

"I, too, served a great king, who kept me unmarried that I might serve him better. Now he is dead, and I remain alone."

"'Thus says God: You ought to marry the single from among you as well as such of your male and female slaves as are fit for marriage. If they whom you intend to marry are poor, let this not deter you; God will grant them sufficiency out of His bounty - for God is infinite and all-knowing.'" Khazuran quoted.

"Between you and Eschiva it's a wonder my bags haven't been packed already," Aude remarked, half –amazed and half annoyed.

Khazuran glanced out the window and rose from her seat, going over to the window lattice and looking down the castle walls to the ground below. "My lady, the weather is temperate today. Perhaps we should take our lessons outside – to the garden," she suggested, pointing to the blue sky outside the window lattice. A stray wisp of cloud floated by, propelled slowly by the light breeze.

Aude looked at her tutor suspiciously, wondering what the woman had seen to prompt such an abrupt change in plans. She clapped her hands, summoning a maidservant to send for men to move a table and chairs out into the garden. The appropriate furniture was found, shades erected (at Khazuran's request so "my lady does not catch too much sun") and the lesson effectively removed to the garden, the subtle bubbling of a fountain now serving as the backdrop to their translating. Khazuran left her as soon as the muezzin began the call for midday prayer, leaving Aude alone with her pages and books, going over more of the aesetic Rab'ia's verse.

"My lady..." a man's voice said, disturbing the nearly pristine sounds of the garden, flowing water, the flutter of leaves, and an occasional birdsong interspersed with the far-off cries of the town below.

_"Did I not say I was to be left undisturbed here?"_ Aude snapped, the Arabic almost a reflex while she was reading the tongue, her mind fixed on thinking in that language.

The man chuckled, clapping his hands together slowly and deliberately. "Oh, very well said, my lady. Your accent is nearly perfect."

Aude looked up sharply, surprised to be greeted not by one of Raymond's servants, but with the smiling face of Lord Nasir, decked out in traveling clothes and standing at the edge of the garden. For a man who had just been shouted at, he looked inordinately pleased with himself.

"My lord, I did not know you had arrived already," she managed, standing up quickly when she remembered her manners, surprised as she was. "I pray you accept my apologies for shouting at you," she added, making a quick curtsey.

"Please, do not apologize for shouting so flawlessly. For poor pronunciation I would accept an apology, for poor grammar nothing less than three or four admonitions begging forgiveness would be perfectly sufficient, but for that? For that I must apologize, Lady, for disturbing you. I pray you pardon me," Nasir said with a smile, bowing low, a gesture that made Aude smile. "And if you had known I was here, I would have wondered if you truly were a dove just now flying over Tripoli. I arrived only some minutes ago, and I have only just finished making my greetings to the Count and his Lady. I thought it best to come and make my greetings to you as well."

_So that is why Khazuran moved me out here. She saw his train arriving, and knew he would come to the garden looking for me. Sly fox. _"The pardon is given. But you, of all people, should know better than to disturb a scholar at work," Aude accused, setting her pen down and collecting herself, clearing off the second chair for him to sit.

"I should," Nasir acknowledged. "But I could not help myself. You looked as though you needed disturbing. You are too young to look so serious."

Aude glanced sideways at him, frowning a little. "And you, my lord, are yourself too young to remark so on my age," she countered.

Nasir laughed. "Well played, my lady."

Aude gestured to the now-empty chair, inviting him to sit -- he declined politely, remaining standing. _Silly girl -- he's probably been sitting on a horse all morning. No small wonder he wants to stand a little._

"I have a gift for you," Nasir offered, clapping his hands for a member of his retinue, waiting in the shadows of the covered hallway that surrounded the courtyard.

"You are far too generous with your gifts, my lord," Aude observed. "What do they say in Jerusalem about all this generosity?

"BEHOLD, God enjoins justice, and the doing of good, and generosity towards one's fellow men," Nasir quoted."From the 16th sura. The gift of a servant is a large thing. This is perhaps not quite so large," he said, presenting her with a small package. Aude unwrapped it, looking at it for a moment and then looking up at him.

"Another book?" she asked, wondering what the purpose of this new volume was.

"You observed that it was a most fitting gift that I bring you poetry, so with poetry I have come. This is something I think you find most interesting. Abu Nawas. He was a great poet of the Persian school several centuries ago. A most...colorful fellow. But his poetry is sublime."

"Colorful, Lord Nasir?" Aude probed.

"Let us say that the pious burn his books when they can find them. He writes of things the Prophet forbids. Wine, Women, song..."

Wine! "I am a terrible hostess, my lord -- Have you had refreshment? You have traveled far across the desert and I fear want for drink. Perhaps some wine?"

Nasir nodded, looking grateful for the offer, and Aude sent a servant running for a ewer and two glasses as her guest sat down, watching her examine the book. Aude smiled a little, and opened the volume, paging through. So many poems..."Read me one," she requested, handing the book back to him. "Your favorite, perhaps, or...one you think I will like."

"Very well," Nasir said, sitting down and taking the book back from her to flip through the pages carefully. He paused on a likely looking page and began to read.

"But what I say comes to me

from my inner thoughts

denying my eyes.

I begin to compose something

in a single phrase

with many meanings,

standing in illusion,

so that when I go towards it,

I go blindly,

As if I am pursuing the beauty of something

before me but unclear."

Audemande couldn't help but sigh a little in appreciation, both for the poem and the wonderfully sonorous way he read it. "You know my heart too well, my lord. That was quite beautiful. Read me another."

Nasir glanced at her, smiling a little as though he thought himself and whatever plan he was about to execute next brilliantly clever, and found another poem, his glee almost spilling out as he read.

"I asked her for a kiss and obtained it

after refusal, and much effort.

By God, I said, my tormentress, be generous,

give me another and content me.

She smiled and cited a proverb,

known by the Persians, and true;

Never give anything to a child

who petulantly asks for another."

Aude could not help but laugh, her face smiling but trying to look hurt at the same time. "Lord Nasir, you tease me!" She accused, taking the book back from Nasir, who was still chuckling.

"It was too perfect to refuse, my lady. Now it is your turn. Read one to me, and show me your teacher has not merely had you copying her work."

"Very well," Aude said, taking the book back and opening it to a random page.

"On every path love waits to ambush me,

a sword of passion and a spear in hand;

I cannot flee it and am sore afraid

of it, for every lover is a coward.

My hearth affords no amnesty, and I

have no safe conduct if I stir outside.

His face, a goblet next to his lip,

looks like a moon lit with a lamp;

Armed with love's weaponry, he rides

on beauty's steed, squares up eye's steel--

which is his smile, the bow his brow,

the shafts his eyes, his lashes lances."

Aude let the book fall to her lap, realizing what it was she had been reading. A man…writing about another man. _Colorful, indeed_. Nasir's face was a study in riddles -- he had a dreamy, hazy look, a slight smile on his lips, looking directly at her as though she reminded him of something he had seen a long, long time ago that pleased him greatly. "Why do you stare so?" Aude asked anxiously, casting her eyes down, suddenly very self-conscious. Nasir roused himself and recomposed his face.

"Forgive me my daydream. You read quite well. I was...lost in the poem."

"Perhaps I should not read again. It would not do well to tell my Lord Salah al Din that his emissary was lost in a book of poetry while in Tripolis, and could not be restored."

Nasir smiled fondly. "He would understand. Read me another."

They passed the rest of the afternoon in the garden, sharing poems back and forth until the sun had dipped so low that it was becoming hard to see. When it was coming time that torches should have been summoned, Khazuran returned to them, bowing low to her former master and her current mistress.

"I am bid to tell you it is time to make ready for dinner, my lord, my lady," she said, keeping her eyes away from Nasir. The Saracen lord rose, making his goodbye to Aude in a most courteous manner and making for the guest quarters. Aude watched him leave and then followed Khazuran back to her own room, exchanging her dress for something a little more appropriate for the grand dinner Eschiva was no doubt planning to serve.

* * *

I have a music recommendation for you all – Les Jongeleurs de Mandragore, a group from Canada. Very, very cool medievalesque tunes. I think they're on myspace.

Also, I have a folder in my Favorites on my deviantart page – look me up there, hmsmercury – of Song of a Peacebringer Inspiration, so if you're looking for a timewaster or some inspiration of your own or you'd just like to see some pretty cool art, go check it out!

Okay, you people who seem to be driving my hit count up. I know you're not back here to naively browse, so PLEASE, **please**, leave a review! Feel like your English isn't up to par? Leave a review in your native language. Want to comment on how wrong I've got any number of things in this story? I'm down with that. Criticism and praise are both gratefully accepted here.


	26. Chapter 26

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Twenty-Six – A Woman Named Scheherazade

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Nasir and Tiberias were already inside the Great Hall when Aude arrived, appropriately attired in a blue-gray party dress, one of the best she owned – both men stood when she made her curtsey, Nasir with a little more ease than Tiberias, who looked as though his chest was giving him pain again. Aude took her usual seat next to Eschiva, feeling very much as though someone or something was missing. What it was she couldn't quite place – Tiberias was making his usual excuses to Eschiva as she tried to steer him away from the rich foods and towards the dry, cool things that would calm his unbalanced humors and Aude's attention was divided between watching that exchange and Nasir's reactions to it, torn between diplomacy and laughter.

There was a ruckus outside the door, and the Little Dove realized who it was who was missing from the table, the only person who would come in late like this. "Oh, God in heaven help us. Remy," Aude muttered, watching as Raymond's godson entered the room, proud as a peacock for whatever he had done on hunt today. He would not take Nasir's presence here very well.

"Uncle, you would have been proud of me today – I took down three roe deer by myself! We shall eat them tomorrow…"

The young Frankish knight stopped short when he saw Nasir sitting at his uncle's right hand, sharing a meal like a great friend would. His pride melted away, replaced by something that looked strangely like hate-filled disdain. "Uncle, who is this, that he sits at your table and dines with you like a friend?" Remy asked, sneering. Nasir stood up, out of respect and, Aude suspected, out of a need for defense as well. His hand was resting ever so slightly on the hilt of the dagger at his belt, only hinting at his capability. But he was no fool – he was a guest in this house, and however much the host's nephew insulted him, Audemande knew Nasir would not strike back.

"My lord Nasir, allow me to introduce my nephew, Lord Raymond of Antioch. Remy, this is Salah Al Din's ambassador; he is come to renegotiate our peace. I pray you forgive my nephew, my lord – he is unschooled," Raymond said sharply, giving his nephew a warning look. Remy gave a short, curt bow, taking his place without any further comment, a chair further away from his usual seat at Tiberias' side and rather farther away from the salt than he was accustomed to sitting. He remained sullenly silent for the rest of the meal, glancing down the table over his wine cup with a deeply etched frown on his face.

It certainly was a meal for princes, with every care taken not to offend the honored guest. Special butchers had been employed to make certain the meat was prepared in the correct fashion, and the kitchen had been scrubbed meticulously clean to make certain no trace of pig could be found anywhere. The meal itself was also served in the Arab style, being eaten with the hands out of large communal dishes, all of them on the table at once – first fruits, dates and pomegranates in the main, then cold appetizers, chickpea garnish over the ever-present flatbread and olives soaked in herbed oil. After that the hot dishes, mostly meats served with vegetables, the halal-butchered chicken, beef, and veal.

And finally – finally! – when the rest of the delicious, fragrant repast had been consumed and Audemande was fairly certain she could eat no more (surely there was no more food to be eaten, anyway) the kitchen staff came out with their grand trays heaped over with desserts, "sweet enough to make angels cry and open the gates of heaven," as Tiberias assured Nasir. He winked at Audemande as he took a generous piece of the heavy, syrup soaked Greek pastry called kopte, his wife frowning all the while. Eschiva was trying, again, and unsuccessfully, to regulate Raymond's diet. The patient, however, was being less than cooperative in the matter, and the treatment wasn't proceeding as planned.

While the fragrant pastries and wildly dyed marzipan were making their way around the banquet hall, the night's entertainment was emerging from the servants' entrance, ready to do as they had been paid to. There was a juggler, and a family of acrobats, doing all manner of flips and turns as the diners applauded. Then from the back of the hall came a raucous cry and the sweet trills of a flute, proceeding the entrance of Laudebec the troubadour with two of his musician companions, ready to tell their jokes or ribald tales or whatever it was they had been engaged to do for the evening. The Little Dove sat back in her chair, pushing some crumbs around her plate with her spoon and trying not to look too dismissive.

Audemande knew that Tiberias had his reasons for not inviting her to sing her own songs or share a poem: she was the master's ward, and it would be unseemly for her to recite in front of such a group. It was no longer her place to entertain – now she was a member of the audience, an observer only. It was all she could do to sit still for the remainder of the entertainments, and when Laudebec finished his final piece, a very sad, melancholy story about a maid pining for her lost lover, Audemande was one of the only people in the hall not clapping enthusiastically. She rose from her chair quickly after he finished, leaving the hall with as much stealth as a woman in a full train can muster.

"My lady Audemande," Nasir said from behind her once she had reached the outer hall, returning to her room. Aude turned back to speak with the Saracen, who had obviously followed her out after the music was completed. "You did not enjoy the troubadour…Laudebec, was that his name?" he judged, smiling a little at the answer he already knew she would give.

"I think his style a little elementary," Aude said diplomatically. "But the crowd enjoys it, and that is always a good thing." Nasir chuckled, nodding and crossing his arms.

"Yes, it was a little juvenile, I think. But you and I are of a different class of poet entirely, not meant for mere entertainment, but for reflection."

"I like my stories to have a little substance, something stronger than overused conceits," Aude stated truthfully. "Flimsy tales of love lost and found may be well and good for them, but they will not do for me."

"I have no doubt you could do better at any tale you told, my lady Scheherazade. Good night," Nasir said softly, bowing deeply and departing in slipper-shod silence. _Scheherazade? What manner of woman is that?_ Aude wondered to herself, rolling the long, Persian name over her tongue in silent syllables as she walked back to her own room to retire for the night.

"Did you enjoy your day with Lord Nasir, my lady?" Khazuran asked, brushing and plaiting Aude's hair before she went to bed. "You remained rather long in the garden."

"It was lovely," Aude confessed, not thinking beforehand of how her matchmaking tutor would take this. "He read me poetry all afternoon, and after dinner he...he called me by another name," Aude remembered. "Yes, Khazuran, you shall have to help me with this. A Persian name, I think it was. Scheherazade. Was that the name of someone he knew in Isfahan?"

"Scheherazade..." Khazuran smiled secretively. "Someone he knew very, very well, indeed. That is a good name for you, Audemande of Jerusalem. Yes, that is a very good name."

Curious, Aude couldn't help but ask. "Who was she, this Scheherazade?"

"She was a great storyteller. Oh, not a real woman!" Khazuran said quickly, looking at Aude's slightly fallen face. "A character in a grand tale of love, and desire, and trust."

"Do you know it?" The Little Dove asked, fully prepared to stay up to whatever hour was necessary to hear this grand tale.

"Some of it. It is a very long tale," the tutor admitted.

"We are not lacking for time, Khazuran. The rest of the castle is asleep and we shall not be disturbed except, perhaps, by the sunrise," Aude offered, sitting back in anticipation that her tutor would cave and tell the story. Khazuran was somewhat predictable like that.

Khazuran nodded, considering this. "I suppose it is not now such a bad time to tell the tale, for most of it takes place at night." She sat down on a nearby stool, arranging the folds of her dress and collecting her thoughts. Audemande smiled at her predictability. If there was a person who loved telling stories as much as Audemande did, it seemed from months of observation that person was Khazuran, one of many qualities that made her such a wonderful teacher. Experience, it is said, is the greatest tutor of all, and the Muslim woman was always happy to share hers with Audemande. "Once upon a time, long ago in Persia, there lived and ruled a king, Sharyar, who loved his wife very much. However, he came back from the hunt one day to find her committing an indiscretion with one of his counselors. Without thinking, he took up his sword and killed both the counselor and his wife in a jealous rage. But then Sharyar issued the following proclamation -- that every night he would marry a new wife, and to keep her faithful to him, she would be slain in the morning, giving her no chance to betray him."

"This greatly troubled Sharyar's counselors, who knew, and took note of the simple fact that Sharyar was yet a young king, and had need of an heir, which of course would prove impossible to beget if the bride was killed every morning. One of the king's oldest councilors, a man named Jafar who had served Sharyar's father before him, took this news home to his daughter Scheherazade with a heavy heart. "Father, what troubles you? Why is your brow anointed with confusion?" Scheherazade asked, as a dutiful daughter should. "O Daughter, terrible news! Our great king, Sharyar, may Allah make his reign long and prosperous, has made a most distressing proclamation today. The Queen has betrayed him with one of his counselors, and he has killed both in his rage. Now he has declared that in order that no wife will ever betray him again, he will marry a new woman every night, and have her beheaded in the morning. It is only a matter of time before you are summoned to be his wife, and when you are gone, I will be alone in this world, without companionship."

"Father, let not this news trouble you. Allah will provide a way through this most troublesome time," Scheherazade promised, letting her father go to bed that night knowing that his very wise daughter would think of something clever.

"When the day came for Scheherazade to be named for marriage to Sharyar, she went to her wedding feast with a brave face, sitting through the toasting without any tears. Finally, however, it was time for the marriage to be consumed, and Sharyar escorted his new wife to the bridal chamber. When the thing had been done and the King was ready to go bed, Scheherazade spoke. "Come, my lord -- let me tell you a story, to pass the time before you fall asleep. Such a tale as you have never heard before," the present Queen of a Single Night promised. Sharyar was interested, and he sat back down upon the bolsters, inviting her to begin. So Scheherazade began to tell her tale, about a young man who found a cave filled with the accumulated treasures of forty thieves. But she told it in such a way, and with such timing, that before she could finish the story, the sun had already risen again, and it was the next day."

Khazuran adjusted the way she was sitting, an impish smile on her face, the kind worn by every storyteller when their tale mentions mischief. "Sharyar was torn. He could either kill her, as his proclamation demanded, and never hear the end of the tale, which was a new one to him, or let her live another night and hear out the story."

"He chose to let her live," Audemande guessed, smiling. Khazuran looked at her, a little annoyed with the interruption, and nodded.

"He was a great lover of stories, Sharyar, and you must remember, Audemande, that he had never heard this one before. So he let her live, bidding her to continue the story the next night. That night, she finished the story of the young man and the treasure cave, and started a new tale, about a prince who owned an enchanted ebony horse and who traveled the world in search of a princess he had seen in a dream. Like the first night, by the time the sun had risen, Scheherazade had not finished her story, and again, Sharyar decided against killing her in favor of hearing the rest of the story. This went on for one thousand and one nights, ending one tale and starting another to remain alive, until Scheherazade at last had no more tales to tell. By this time she had borne the king three beautiful sons, and she brought them before him.

"'My lord,' she began, 'I have been your wife these three years. I have been no threat to you, though threat has always been upon me. I have loved you as deeply as it is possible for wife to love, and I have never broken trust with you. I have one last story to tell you.' And so she began telling the tale of a great king whose wife betrayed him, and who told stories to keep herself alive so that more young women would not have to suffer. As she said this story, the story of Sharyar and Scherazade, their story, the King realized how selfish he had become when his first wife had betrayed him, and how selfless his present wife now was for remaining with him to spare others. He realized, also, that her love was genuine and that he, too, loved her deeply. She would not betray him, and her love would remain pure until the day of his death, or hers. Realizing this, he repealed finally the decree that said he would take a new wife every night and kill her at daybreak, and remained married to Scheherazade until the end of their days," Khazuran finished with a slim, contented smile, basking in the rosy glow a good ending always leaves with the audience.

"Did she continue telling stories?" Audemande asked. "Surely Sharyar must have had a favorite after all that time."

Khazuran chuckled. "The story never says. I assume, of course, that Sharyar did hear those stories many, many more times before his death. But now is not the time to riddle over such things -- the hour grows late, my lady, and the candle dips low. I think it is time for poets and their tutors to go to bed."

"Come, my lord, and I will tell you a tale that has never been told before," Audemande whispered to herself as she lay in bed, imagining the garden in Jerusalem, lit by oil lamps and the moon, filled with the sound of poetry in her own voice, her audience her very own Sharyar, a man who could truly appreciate the tales she told. _If only such a man existed_, she thought to herself before drifting into sleep.

* * *

A shorter chapter, but I hope you all enjoyed the Arabian Nights retelling. Most of my research says that those stories are based on a set of Persian stories, and Nasir, being of a family from Persia (Isfahan is in modern day Iran) would be intimately acquainted with them. If you're not familiar with the Arabian Nights, get familiar with them – they're a great set of stories embedded in an even more fantastic frame story about the incomparable Scheherazade, the Queen of Storytellers.

Hopefully you've all realized what Audemande hasn't by the end of this chapter; her oblivion makes this part of the story is becoming the most fun to write.

ALSO! I gave a presentation on the vocabulary of fanfiction at an undergraduate research conference this week. You can find it on YouTube by searching 'mercury gray fanfiction'. It comes in two parts.


	27. Chapter 27

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Twenty Seven – Profession

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Audemande saw no more of Nasir the following day, the Saracen envoy locked in the official business of his visit with Raymonds Elder and Younger, one learning the statecraft while the other taught. Audemande remained at her books in the garden, half expecting an interruption all day from the poet of Isfahan, but no such interruption came, not even for dinner which, Aude learned from the steward, was to be taken privately that evening, with no great feast or grand fanfare. The Little Dove retreated back to her own room in saddened solitude, wishing very much she could share the discoveries of the day with Nasir. There was something about spending time with him that filled her with joy, something about the way he praised her work and challenged her at the same time to do better that made her incredibly happy. The next day passed in the same manner, and the next, and Aude saw precious little of the Saracen envoy for the rest of his visit.

It was on the last night of Nasir's visit, when Aude was taking dinner in her rooms, that she noticed Khazuran was missing from the usual bustle around the dinner table. "Mirrum," Aude asked, beckoning to the servingmaid and drawing her back to the table with the gesture. "Where is Khazuran?"

"In the kitchen, lady, overseeing preparations for the lord Nasir."

"Whatever enticed her down there?" Aude asked, a little bewildered. "She is not a cook!"

"Lord Remy is taking his dinner tonight with the Lord Nasir, as a final gesture of hospitality. My lord's chief groom borrowed her to oversee the cooking, so that everything would be agreeable to my lord."

"And why was I not informed of this borrowing of my servant?" Aude asked angrily, not really perturbed at the use of Khazuran but rather at the affront of not having been asked first. Ghostly little Mirrum looked down at the jug of water in her hands.

"You were busy, my lady, and we – she," the girl amended quickly, "thought it best not to disturb you."

Aude was about to tell the girl to inform her when Khazuran returned, but there was no need, for the woman in question entered the room looking very pleased with herself, ignoring the dinner at hand to attempt to pull Aude to her feet, talking so quickly in Arabic Aude could scarcely understand her.

"Khazuran, where have you been?" Aude asked exasperatedly, very pointedly using French to inform her tutor she did not understand.

"In places where men might call me blind, and expect me not to see," Khazuran said mysteriously. "Come with me, my lady, and I will show you something you will not regret knowing of."

"Where are you taking me, Khazuran?" Aude asked, following the Muslim woman through the family quarters of the Tripolis castle, watching as the woman lead her behind a curtained alcove and opened a secret door concealed in the elaborate wood paneling covering the wall.

"To hear a story, my lady, both fantastic and true, and full of none of your overused conceits," the tutor said decidedly, smiling with a mischief seldom seen by Audemande in anyone but Sybilla. She disappeared down the darkened passage, and Audemande followed, curious and skeptical at the same time.

The passage was thin, Aude's dress catching at the walls and picking up some of the dust and cobwebs accumulated there from years of disuse. _No one has seen this passageway since the city was taken from the Muslims in the last century_, Aude reveled, following Khazuran further along the passage, where it widened and a little light was showing through the wall in curious patterns. Here where the light was the passageway widened, giving way to an alcove nestled behind the latticework– a secret listening post. Such things had been commonplace in the Citadel of David in Jerusalem, but Aude had never imagined they had such things here in Tripoli as well.

"Khazuran, this is Remy's apartment!" Aude said, glancing through the latticework into the sitting room, decorated for a man of war, with Remy's Antiochean surcoat and arms hung prominently in the corner.

"And this is a place where he cannot hear you," the tutor whispered. "Remain silent, and hear what you can. I promise it will be well worth the effort."

Aude watched, part in horror and part in fascination, as servants began arranging what looked to be a private meal, laying out tables, rearranging bolsters and setting out the trays and plates of food, some twenty different dishes at the most. The two men entered the room talking quietly, an overflow of their conversation from the diplomatic negotiations, she thought. But when they came close enough to be heard, they were talking not of land or water rights, but of her. _Strange,_ Aude thought, craning closer to the lattice to hear.

"You take a keen interest in the Lady Audemande, my lord," young Raymond was observing to his guest. Or perhaps it was accusing – the tone was hard to tell.

"We have a common occupation," Nasir said with a simple shrug. "And she always made me welcome when I was in Jerusalem."

"That is a great skill of hers, hospitality. But she has a great many skills besides that…" Remy trailed off, sitting down and selectively picking out bits and pieces for his meal. "I was sorry, my lord, that I could not be in negotiations with you today. Still, the day was not wasted. I was out in the city, surveying for Uncle and supervising the collection of rents. I saw a woman being sold in the market place today by a Muslim trader," the young Antiochean began delicately, taking a sip of his wine. "A woman much like Audemande, in fact. Or so the trader said. Skilled in both the writing and speaking of Arabic, Persian, and Hebrew, with a great knowledge of poetry, able to recite at the clap of a hand. The bidding went remarkably high, I thought," he reflected, watching his companion for his reaction to this news.

"And how much was paid for her, this woman who was Lady Audemande and yet not her?"

"Ten-thousand dinars. Personally, I thought it too much for a woman," the Frankish knight said with a shrug, popping a stuffed date in his mouth with relish.

"Too much?" Nasir scoffed. "I would have paid five times as much," he assured the host. Remy's eyes widened in shock.

"Five times as much for Audemande?" He clarified with incredulity. _**I **would__ like to think I'm worth a little more than ten thousand dinars_, Audemande thought to herself behind the screen, watching both men with care. Nasir smiled, chewing carefully and wiping his hand on a napkin.

"No, for the slave-girl. One could not put a price on Lady Audemande. She is a woman beyond price."

Aude felt her heart drop out of her chest, as if a great weight had been displaced. Suddenly everything seemed cold except her skin, radiating a blushing heat even from behind the latticework partition where she could not be seen.

"And besides," Nasir was saying, "it is illegal among your people to buy and sell those among you who are Christian, is it not?"

Remy nodded, vaguely annoyed that he should be reminded so. He chuckled, almost nervously, and took another bite of his lamb. "Oh, yes, of course. And what does one do with a woman like that, anyway?" he mused, chewing thoughtfully.

"What would you do?" Nasir inquired, sitting back on his bolster to watch the younger Frankish knight. Remy shrugged broadly, considering the spread before him as he composed his answer.

"What I would do with any woman -- take her to my bed, if she was handsome, and refrain from purchasing her in the first place if she was plain." Nasir gave a short burst of derisive laughter, and Remy, incensed, sat up, brow furrowed and lips set in a petulant frown. "Would you do differently?" he asked with annoyance, watching his guest through angry eyes.

"The real pleasure in owning such a woman -- if, indeed, such a woman can be owned at all," Nasir began, sitting up leisurely, "is watching her learn more, and matching your wit with hers. To be challenged thus by a woman is exhilarating. Her knowledge is her greatest treasure."

Remy snorted dismissively. "What need does a woman have for knowledge? Poetry, writing, religion -- it is a man's world, all of it."

Nasir licked his lips, smiling only slightly as he watched his host. "The Bedouin, the wandering nomads of the desert, have a saying among their people. Below the navel, a woman belongs to her husband, and above, to her lover. The man who owns the whole of such a woman, then, is in my mind a very rich man."

"A woman's head is above her navel, and with her head comes her mouth. If owning the whole woman means owning every plaintive plea for more attention and senseless girlish comment, I'll leave that to another man and remain poor," Remy said with a smile. Nasir smiled back, a thin, agreeable smile that Audemande knew hid a mind begging to disagree.

"Probably better for you then that the Lady Audemande doesn't care for you, then," Nasir added blandly, dipping his fingers back into the nearest dish. It was clear to Audemande, veteran of court life and dealings with crafty barons, that Nasir was hiding his true feelings. But Remy, unschooled in subtlety, saw nothing.

"The lady Audemande doesn't not like me," Remy countered quickly, his face the perfect picture of a stung bull. "She just... needs to be shown reason. She'll come to me with time. I know these things. Women are not hard to understand."

"Of course," Nasir said, again agreeably, rising from his seat and moving towards the latticework, studying it with a seldom seen intensity. Aude instinctively moved away, suddenly very afraid. _Can he see me?_ she wondered, wishing there were more space in the passageway so she might move farther away, back into the shadows. Why did I have to move so close? "Women are _never_ difficult to understand." Nasir repeated, staring at the wall as if inspecting the latticework. He was smiling, and then, without warning, he winked, turning away from the lattice and returning to his meal, his back to the wall and the latticework. Audemande shuffled as quietly as she could back down the passage, going back to her own room with much to consider.

When the dinner had ended, the hour would be too late to find the envoy and ask him about his intentions – the matter would have to wait until tomorrow, when he was saying his goodbyes. He could not avoid her then: decorum would not allow it. Aude would get the truth from him, whatever it took. The question left her awake for much of the night, tossing and turning in anticipation.

The sun was barely past the horizon when Aude pattered outside to the courtyard, still in her house slippers, to see Nasir off. The rest of the household was still mostly asleep, and the envoy was trying to travel as far as he could in a single day's space. It was a long way home to Jerusalem.

"How did you see me?" Aude asked directly from the top of the stairs, leaning over the balustrade a little to project her voice out to the General. The question needed no real introduction, and she gave none. All she wanted was an answer.

"Ah, so you were behind the screen!" Nasir exclaimed, turning his horse about to speak with her.

"You mean you didn't know I was there?" Aude realized. The General laughed, smiling at her as he explained himself.

"I had an idea Khazuran would try something like that, and the latticework is something I am familiar with. The best way to reveal a man's secrets is to make him think you already know them – is that not right? Obviously it works with women, too. Oh, come," he said conciliatorily, drawing his horse nearer to the stairs. "You must remember that Khazuran was a member of my household for many years. I know her tricks exceedingly well. I taught her some of them," he added.

"Did you mean what you said?" Aude asked, pushing to the quick of the matter.

Nasir's smile curled mischievously – he meant to make her work for her answer. "I said a great many things I did not mean, my lady. Pray elaborate."

"About my... price," Audemande offered, eyes narrowed, just a little annoyed with the General. Nasir's smile softened.

" I would not lie about you, Lady Dove," he assured her. "Go inside – I have left something with Khazuran for you. Until we next meet, Lady," He said, bowing a little as he turned his horse about and spurred through the castle gates, his train following behind him with fluttering banners. Aude watched them leave and then ran back inside, her curiosity overcoming any desire to behave in a ladylike manner. It was early – there was no one to see and no one to chide. _This is too important to bear waiting over._

"My lady, has he gone already?" Khazuran asked, watching bemusedly as her mistress barreled into the room, braid swinging wildly.

"His note! Khazuran, his note! Give it to me, quickly!" Aude exclaimed, snatching the folded paper from her tutor's hands and opening it so quickly she tore a corner.

"_My Lady, My Dove, Audemande –_

_You may consider it gross impropriety, my lady, but I must speak of this to you, this fire that has consumed my heart. If it offends you, Lady Dove, then I have done you but a little harm and I am no longer there to press you. But if the feeling is returned, as I hope to heaven it is, send me some token of it so I do not fade away for waiting. I have written of you, dreamed of you – your very voice haunts my every sleeping moment, and all my waking thought. Where there are books, poetry, gardens even, I hear your laughter and it enchants my soul. You who have given me so much poetry, take some now for yourself and know that it was not some long dead beauty from the pages of the past who inspired these lines, but you."_

Beneath there was a poem, copied out in the same beautiful script. Aude could read it now, and the words made her weak.

_Come to me, o merchant of my desires, sell to me_

_the secrets of my soul. I have given you my self of selves,_

_I have sold myself to you for laughter and smiles,_

_More precious to me than gold, for without them I am truly poor._

_My heart is like a book -- you have read it openly_

_and you too have written upon it the sign that it is yours_

_Though the pen was not in your hand, and you did not know you wrote._

_I will build you a bower of stars and summer winds_

_In the valley of the pale moonlight_

_There, o star of my heart, o best of my beloved,_

_I will gather your charms to myself, clasping you to me._

_We shall be one flesh, you and I, and only God will part us._

Audemande sat back in her chair, the paper heavy in her hands. She could hear his voice saying the words, as if from a distance, and then nearer, as though he were sitting beside her. Where her heart had dropped out last night had not filled in, a great void in her chest with no one to fill it. No one except the man who had made it so. It was infinite, the amount of love she could hold for Nasir. He knew her better than she knew herself -- a heart like a book, what an image that conjured! He knew she loved her books dearly. Suddenly it was all so clear to her, the feelings of the past few days, how she had yearend for his company and how her heart leapt when he said her name and told Remy she was beyond price, beyond buying. And he felt the same way! _Merchant of my desires...What have I to sell you? All I have to sell you have given to me!_

It was the beginning of a poem, and she knew, now, that she must write it down. God would not give her more time, would not allow his gift to her to be wasted any longer. It would be the first poem she had written in months, and it would be for him. Drawing out a clean sheet of paper and sharpening her reed-pen, Aude set it down on the right-hand margin and gently stroked the page, forming the first letters of her answering poem back to Nasir, her Arabic clear and concise.

"_You come with an empty bowl, asking me to fill it_

_With answers, begging me to feed your hungry heart._

_With what will I feed you? All I have is yours!_

_All I have to sell you, you have given to me --_

_It is I who stand in your debt. See the words on this page, _

_It is you who have put them there; you have honeyed my tongue._

_Prince of Poets! Parades come forth from the gates of a city_

_The conquerors decked in red and in rich jewels ride in the streets._

_You are the conqueror, I am the city -- _

_With your arrows of fine words you have brought down my walls._

_Come and take what is yours, what is rightfully due._

Within the week a reply came back – a few words, dashed out on paper in a hand that did not have time for beautiful words or elegant calligraphy. "Come to Jerusalem, my Scheherazade. Let us tell stories together, you and I, where no others can see us. I find myself in need of consolation."

"Tiberias, I need to go to Jerusalem," Aude announced, entering the Count's study with purpose and resolve, unstoppable, Nasir's latest note clenched tight in her fist.

"Why, Audemande? Have you some pressing business of the state in the city?" Raymond asked, not a little amused.

"Yes," Aude said sincerely. Tiberias gave her a skeptical look. "And no," she admitted, a little bit of her initial bravado gone.

Raymond of Tripolis laughed. "Is that fear I see from Audemande the Boldly Tongued? I know a pair of love-lost eyes when I see them, even if a pair hasn't been directed my way for a goodly number of years. This is about Nasir, isn't it?" He asked. Audemande couldn't help but look away, her cheeks coloring a little. The Count chuckled. "Who could refuse you, asking so sweetly with eyes so brazen?" he mused rhetorically, stroking his ward's cheek. "Oh, Audemande, your husband will be an unlucky man. He'll have to answer to this face. Remy leaves in a week for more negotiations. It appears the Sultan was not overly satisfied with Nasir's agreed terms. You'll go with him, if that is your wish."

Aude threw her arms around Raymond's shoulders, smiling wider than she remembered smiling in a long time. "Oh, Tiberias, thank you! God will reward you," she said happily, pressing her cheek against Raymond's, feeling the stubble on her skin and the gaunt, stretched flesh beneath it. She kissed him with a daughter's kiss and left, gathering up her skirts to make the fastest time back to her room and pack. Raymond watched her go, fingering the carving on the arm of his chair and studying the back of his hand – mottled, thin, the veins thick stripes of purple feeding back into his arm.

"Ah, if he loves me enough he'll reward me by making you happy and Eschiva safe when I am gone," the older man murmured to the empty room, his voice no more than a brief flutter through the curtains.

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The beginning of one good thing, the end of another. Such is life, I suppose. Now, I know this chapter is short, but it's finals week here and I'm a little swamped. I'm moving out of the dorms next Friday, and the next chapter (which takes place in Jerusalem) is NOWHERE near being done, so you'll have to wait a while for another update. _Mea Culpa._

In other news, how cute are they? *points to Aude and Nasir* This chapter is so sappy I ought to be hung.


	28. Chapter 28

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Twenty-Eight – O Jerusalem!

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"_I was glad when they said to me, "Let us go to the house of the LORD." Our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, that is built as a city that is compact together_." – Psalm 122:1-3

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The minute Aude's horse set foot inside the walls of Jerusalem the Little Dove knew she was not returning home. In fact, she realized, she was not returning anywhere, for this was no longer the city she knew. She was a foreigner in a foreign land. The streets had not changed, and the people who filled them were still remarkably the same; in fact, little had changed at all except the pennants flying over the ramparts, and the soldiers stationed at the gates of the Citadel wore different liveries, red and green instead of gold and blue, the elegant script replacing the five golden crosses. But still something was different, in the air or the dust of the streets or the rush of people moving to the market, something so small it just escaped the usual forms of detection, and Aude could not identify with certainty what it was.

And of course, the other difference was Remy, riding ahead of her in his new surcoat with the Tripoli arms on it, the sigil that Aude did not remember Tiberias ever wearing. His duty had always been to Jerusalem, and he had always worn Jerusalem's arms. Now such shows were meaningless. Jerusalem the Kingdom was no more. And certainly they were getting looks from some of the guards in the street, but Remy had a pass with him, signed in Nasir's own hand, and the spear banners of Remy's men were creamy white – flags of truce instead of war.

The heat under her veil was stifling, the cloth Khazuran had draped over her nose and mouth heavy and modest – so that no light will pass through, her tutor had explained. "It is the mark of a lady to be veiled so. You must not speak when you are dressed so. Your rank does not permit you – your modesty does not permit it, either."

"It is shameful for men to hear my voice, Khazuran? That seems a little extreme," Aude had remarked in camp that morning as her tutor helped her dress.

"That is the custom. A woman's voice is for her husband's delight alone, or her father's delight, if she has no husband. The veil is a privilege, Audemande," Khazuran said again, slapping her student's hand as she tried to move the face-covering a little bit. "It is a mark of royalty and rank. They will know you by it, and respect you in higher degrees."

So she had worn the heavy cloth, happy when it blotted some of the sun and pleased when the covering over her mouth protected her from a mouthful of windblown sand. But to not speak? To not be heard at all? Audemande was not accustomed to silencing her tongue.

Scaffolding and dozens of workmen surrounded what had once been the Citadel of David, the center of power and royal life for the Holy City. It appeared Saladin was putting his own touches into the city's rebuilding – carvings and Qu'ranic verses to adorn the facades and the walls of the once-mighty palace, crosses taken down and replaced with other less Christian symbols.

Remy spurred his horse boldly on ahead of her, directing the train into the courtyard of the Citadel and waiting (rather pompously, Aude observed silently from inside her swaths of veil) until the man who appeared to be Saladin's Chamberlain or steward came out, bowing and glancing at the leading Remy for some kind of explanation. Remy held out the pass.

"We are here as guests of the lord Imad al Din," Remy announced to the chamberlain, who looked back at him uncomprehendingly.

"_My lord, I do not speak franj,"_ the man replied, frowning sadly and bowing again. Remy scowled, angry at not having been immediately understood, and repeated himself, louder and more slowly, as if he were speaking to an especially petulant child. The chamberlain gave the same answer, which only annoyed Remy even more.

"These people! Audemande, tell this man that we're here to see Lord Nasir," the young lord demanded, turning his horse to face the Little Dove, who backed her own horse away a step, unsure of what to do. Her protector demanded she speak, the veil (and the territory's custom) demanded she remain silent.

Khazuran stepped in before Aude had a chance to commit a serious breach of protocol, translating quietly for the Chamberlain, her unveiled face a sign she was a servant, and no noblewoman. Her voice was too soft for Aude to hear properly, but she thought she heard several apologies in the midst of the explanation. Finally she turned around, business completed. "My lord Chamberlain bids us welcome in the name of the Lord Imad, and bids us come with him, that we may be shown the guest quarters. Our luggage will follow," she added, as Remy glanced at the pack horses near the end of the rather short train, the look on his face suggesting he was almost perfectly certain the Saracens would rob them blind if the packages were not watched. He left his fears aside for a moment to help Audemande from her horse, escorting her up the steps into the cool shade of the arched stone hallways, out of the heavy sunlight of midday outside.

"What was that about, Audemande? Why did you not speak?" Remy asked quietly as they followed the chamberlain. "I looked like a fool!"

"They do things differently here. It is considered a sign of modesty for women to remain silent in public. I would not like to be seen as an immoral woman, Remy," Aude said sharply but quietly.

She didn't wait for him to say more after that, silently turning and following the chamberlain down the hall, feeling pleasantly invisible behind her veil, a ghost lesser mortals were not permitted to see. Aude had always speculated that wearing such a garment would be restricting, but somehow, oddly, it made her feel…alluring, as if every person they passed in the corridor was silently wondering what face hid underneath the stranger's garb. This was a part of the palace she had not often wandered, and the ornament and decoration were all new to her eyes. Remy, of course, out in front of the train, was paying little attention to the artistry.

They stopped at another door where the passageway split in two, and the chamberlain asked Remy to remain where he was while he took Aude to the women's quarters, the _harem_ part of the household. OF course everything needed to be translated over for Remy, who again looked belligerent at the idea that he should be separated from the woman he had been told to protect. "Tell them you'll be just as safe with me!" He demanded. "Who knows what they'll do to you if I leave you here?" he muttered. "Uncle will never forgive me," he added, a little too dramatically, as if he were a lover in a girlish poem, the kind of story that involves a kidnapped maiden and a rakish hero. Well, this was no poem, and Aude was decided, firmly and forever, that Remy, for all he wanted to be, would never be a hero in anyone's poem, least of all hers.

Tired of his complaining and tired also of remaining silent to it, she spoke. "Remy, it is tradition," Aude declared with finality. "Tiberias will forgive you; it is something he understands and which you, unfortunately, do not."

She gave a curt nod to the chamberlain, asking him in that terse gesture to move onwards, and left Remy in the hall with the rest of his retinue, confused and alone.

The doors beyond were guarded from the inside by tall, heavily veiled female servants, though when they opened the doors Aude saw such defenses were quite thick enough to stand on their own against outsiders. The chamberlain left Aude and Khazuran at the entryway with a silent bow, clapping his hands for the grooms carrying their luggage to leave it by the door. Khazuran marched straight inside, unhindered by the curiosity which held Audemande in check behind her, cautiously proceeding forward into the silent, still air of the _harem. _

It was not what Audemande had expected, to say the least. The picture painted by fantastically dreaming minds (male minds, of course, who had never seen a harem and were never likely to) of languid maidens lying about on cushions and delicate tendrils of smoke curling seductively up from unseen censers. Certainly it was not a scene of wild debauchery either – in fact, the only word Aude could summon to describe it was serene. Uncluttered, quiet, calm space, far removed from the tense, martial, male dominated sphere outside the heavy doors.

Maidservants came to take Audemande's veil and cloak, while others, taking their quietly ordered direction from Khazuran, picked up the chests and luggage to move them to the room that had obviously been set aside for the Little Dove.

In another corridor Audemande could hear children playing, their mothers gossiping underneath the laughter and shrieking of the children. In her study, her library, in the backrooms of law courts children were always far away, a distant thought for a far distant future.

"When will I see my lord, then?" Aude asked, looking around at the room she was now standing and remembering the guards at the door. Here was not a place where she could wander at will. Nasir would have to come to her. And even then, would he be able to see her? She was not of his family, and would probably be required to sit in his presence with Remy, to fulfill the need for a male family member in the room. And how can two lovers meet when one who would have them apart is at the meeting?

"Patience, saddiya. He will come," Khazuran assured her, beginning to unpack, trying to find clean clothes so she and Aude might change out of their dusty traveling things. Suddenly there was a ruckus outside the door to their room, which swung open violently to admit a very noble looking woman, tall and with paler skin than Aude was accustomed to seeing among the Muslims. Clearly this was a noblewoman – her complexion had never ventured out into the sun, had never tilled a field or walked beside a plow. But her beauty was overwhelmed at the moment by her monumental anger, anger that had persuaded her to nearly break down the door.

"How dare you bring an unwashed heathen into my house!" the woman shouted in a nobly accented Arabic. "How dare you, Khazuran Bint Walu! You had no right!" Khazuran knelt quickly, her forehead touching the floor. _Bint Walu…daughter of nothing? That is a cold thing indeed to say to an orphan, even if she is only your servant._

"Forgive me, Saddiya Rayhana, I did only as I was bid. They did not know from whence she came. My Lord Nasir bid that they direct her here." _Rayhana?_ That was a name Audemande did not know. And Khazuran used the honorific _saddiya_ with her. This was a woman of considerable rank.

The woman glanced at Aude, eyes very nearly flaming. Aude stared straight back, unwilling to admit that she was the unwashed heathen to whom the woman referred. There was something familiar about her face that Aude couldn't place, as if she had seen it before.

"Make certain that she bathes before she is allowed into the rest of the house," the woman said, turning to leave.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Aude said to her retreating back. The woman turned around, still seething, and gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. Clearly she hadn't expected Audemande to have understood her. When she had gone Aude turned to Khazuran with amazement. "Who was that?" she asked, unable to think in anything but French.

"That was Nasir's sister, Rayhana. Apparently he has not told his family about you yet," Khazuran surmised, speaking still in her native tongue. _His sister? If that's what she thinks of me I have a long way to go yet with his family._ "You must go bathe, my lady, or she will very likely kill you. It is insult enough that she must house a non-believer at her brother's wishes."

"I would have done that already if she had not admonished me so," Aude defended. "I'm not so barbaric that I'll refuse a bath."

Presently they were joined by what seemed like a small army of maidservants, all trying to usher Aude off to the baths without actually touching her. Apparently unwashed meant possibly carrying the plague and several different types of flesh-eating fleas' here, but Aude was a guest, and as guest, she would do as she was bid, even if that meant being treated a bit like a leper.

Audemande was fully expecting to be plunged, perhaps even half-drowned, in a large bucket of ice-water and have that called her bath. She remembered a similar experience after a journey quite longer than the one she had just taken when she had first arrived in Jerusalem. Evidently, however, the Muslim custom was much different from the Frankish one in this regard. First she was stripped of every stitch of clothing she was wearing, showered thoroughly with cold water and then ushered into a little room where she wilted for a quarter of an hour in a cloud of near- blistering steam. after she was done sweating out whatever impurities had been on her skin before, she was rinsed again and given a robe, sitting and waiting patiently while her hair was unbraided, washed, rubbed with rose oil, and braided once more. It was more bath than Aude had ever had in her life, and evidently it wasn't over.

"Khazuran, was that really necessary?" Aude asked, sitting gingerly down on a cushion. Her skin was tingling, every hair on her body not residing on her head having been ruthlessly ripped out by a veritable army of creams, salves and ungents by a further army of bathhouse attendants, who had looked quite askance at her when her robe had been removed. The older woman nodded.

"It is considered uncouth and untidy to remain otherwise," the tutor said delicately, trying not to smile at her mistress' pain. "A poet spoke once of a singing girl's body looking like a herdsman's face, beard and all. I would hate for the Little Dove to be thus remembered."

"I wouldn't have minded so much if it hadn't hurt so much. I can't sit down without feeling blistered," Aude complained. But Khazuran wasn't listening to her charge -- her hearing was directed elsewhere, out into the main room of the harem, where there was apparently a visitor approaching.

"Uncle Nasir!" one of the smaller children (Rayhana's, one assumed) shouted, a small pattering of bare feet preceding the eventual soft collision of one energetic human body against another, larger human being.

"Gibreel, my darling nephew!" Nasir's voice exclaimed with just as much excitement. "And what have you been doing today?"

"Uncle, a strange franj lady came today!" the nephew Ghalib explained. "Mama shouted at her."

Audemande stifled a laugh, glancing out the partially open door to the corridor beyond. The curious honesty of children.

"Did she now?" Nasir asked, looking at his sister.

"Brother, you and I have things to discuss," the grande dame of the women's quarters said sharply, glaring at her brother with the ferocious look only a vengeful sister can summon. "In private." Nasir glanced around the harem and followed his sister to the room next to Audemande's, the door closing with a heavy snap. With a delicate leap Khazuran was across the room and peeling back the drapery on the wall, revealing a heavy stone latticework between the rooms. "Come!" she hissed, summoning her mistress to the listening post with a sharp gesture of her hand. Reluctantly Aude followed, pressing her face to the grating to try and make out the scene in the room beyond.

"What business have you bringing that woman here, to your house?"

"She could not stay in the city, and her cousin is my guest as well. it would unmannerly to make her seek her own lodging," The General said strongly

"She is a franj, brother, and an unclean one at that. The maids told me the bathwater changed color after she got out. They were obliged to change it afterwards, there was so much dirt in it!"

"She rode all the way here from Tripolis, sister! Anyone would be that dirty after such a ride."

"Rode? On a horse? Brother, why do you associate with so unseemly a woman that she cannot be persuaded to ride a palanquin, as is proper?"

"It is not their custom, sister. It was proper enough among her people to do such."

"And why should she come here?" Rayhana asked further, pressing her brother for more information than Aude judged he wanted to give at the present time. "What should her cousin's business, a man's business of state, have with her?"

"I invited her!" Nasir admitted finally. His sister stepped back, half surprised, half horrified. "I am the reason she is here, Rayhana."

"The woman you wrote all that poetry for..." his sister said, leaving the end of her sentence open, realizing what it was her brother implied.

"Was her."

"Brother, our mother will not like to hear of this," she threatened. Aude's blood chilled. Nothing had been said of meeting Nasir's mother. If she was anything like Rayhana, Aude was quite sure she'd rather not have to meet her.

"She will stay here, Rayhana, whether our mother agrees to like her or not. She is my guest. She will remain under my roof."

"AND DO NOT marry women who ascribe divinity to aught beside God ere they attain to true belief: for any believing follower of God is certainly better than a woman who ascribes divinity to aught beside God, even though she please you greatly," Rayhana quoted ruthlessly at her brother.

"There has been no talk of marriage yet, sister," Nasir reminded, but this did not seem to be enough for Rayhana, who merely frowned and left the room in a deliberate quiet, obviously trying to make her brother as uncomfortable as she could.

Whispering to him did not seem to be the right way to get his attention -- Aude frowned for a moment and then, as distinctly as she could, cooed through the grating in some silly-sounding parody of birdsong. Nasir turned his head, looking oddly at the lattice, a sad smile slowly creeping onto his face. He approached the wall and laid a hand against the lattice. Aude moved her own hand into its shadow, so close and yet so far from actually touching him.

"I am come as you bid me, my lord," Aude offered. "And here we are."

"I suppose you heard Rayhana." The General's voice sounded very resigned, a far cry from the determined, commanding presence he had just been with his sister.

"You did not tell me you had such a sister. If she did not hate me so much I think we might have been good friends," Aude offered brightly. Nasir chuckled, his smile betraying more sadness than the laugh could hide. "

"A Frankish woman has captivated me,  
the breeze of frangrance lingers on her  
in her clothing there is a soft branch  
and her crown is a radiant moon…" He said, his voice tinged with the beginnings of a great sadness; he had obviously wanted Audemande's reception her to be a little more welcoming then it had been thus far. His hand brushed against the screen, and Aude felt her cheek warm, knowing the touch was meant for her and not the stonework that separated them.

"Who do you quote now?" she asked softly.

"Quote?" Nasir asked with a slight smile, as if the idea were absurd that he had not written the poem he had just recited.

"Yes, quote. I know what your poetry sounds like, and I know that is not yours," Aude said with an impish note.

The poet of Isfahan's smile widened a little in spite of his general melancholy. "You are cruel to me, Audemande. Cruel but true. It was al- Qaysarani. I am including it in a collection of poetry I am compiling."

Audemande nodded. "He makes her sound like a tree. Soft branches, a lunar crown. I am not _sajara_," she pointed out. Nasir laughed. "Come, my lord, sit with me a while," Aude begged. "Here we are alone, and I will make you laugh again, and you may call me _sajara_ and speak of my branches and my moonlit crown if that is what you desire. Though I must say, I much preferred being a bird of the air to a thing of the earth," she added.

"You were another man's Dove. To me you will be a tree, a place of shade and respite, a thing of beauty and stability, a rare presence in the desert."

"Are you so lonely here in Jerusalem that you call it a desert?" Aude asked, her voice benignly asking for the truth. Nasir smiled reflectively.

"I could be in the midst of a great multitude and still be lonely if you were not with me," he said, peering through the lattice. "Are your rooms comfortable?" he asked, back to playing host.

"I have not had time to inspect them," Aude admitted, glancing behind her, where Khazuran was bustling about, probably listening to the two of them in between her re-arranging of the room's accoutrements. Let her listen. "Khazuran seems to think them appropriate."

"Khazuran would think anything appropriate as long as her match-making plans were not interrupted," Nasir said, loud enough so the tutor was sure to hear. With her back turned to them, neither saw what her face was saying, but there was the slightest tremor of laughter in her shoulders.

"Speaking of Khazuran, my lord," Aude mentioned, remembering something from their long journey to the Holy City, "On the road here she told me a strange story, about how you came to win your name. She told me your given name was not really Imad or Nasir. That it was something else entirely."

"She told you rightly. My given name is Aluh, though few call me by it," Nasir admitted.

"Aluh means …eagle," Audemande said after a moment's thought. "That is strangely fortunate, that this little singing bird should find comfort with a bigger bird that should, by all rights, eat her," she said seriously, glancing at Nasir through the lattice. The General frowned.

"I could not eat you, Audemande. Strike such thoughts from your mind and never harbor them there again."

A terrible thought sprang to Aude's mind, and she leaned closer to the screen, whispering sweetly to him, "Would you eat me as lovers eat, my lord?" she asked, a twinge of guilt stirring in her mind for saying something so wicked to her host. Nasir looked through the lattice at her, surprised as she was that she would know of such a thing and say it to him.

"Temptress," he accused, frowning and smiling at the same time. So she had amused him, and judging by the look of the half-hidden smile, he was not altogether against the idea, either. And then, quieter, almost to himself, "Tormentress."

"And how long will I have to torment you, my lord, until business and your duty to your king call you away?" Aude asked, glad she had finally distracted him from Rayhana and her harsh words from earlier.

"As long as your keeper remains in the city," Nasir said contentedly. "Here I am no great man, and others will riddle out the treaty with the nephew of Tiberias. You and I are free to do as we please."

"Not entirely as we please," Aude said, gesturing sadly to the latticework separating them. Nasir's smile faded a little.

"Should we allow so small a thing as a screen to interfere with us?" He asked, his voice coaxing her into higher spirits. "I promise you I will think of a better way for us to be together and pass the time."

* * *

I apologize, profusely, to all of you who were so kind as to review after reading all 27 chapters in the past few weeks and to all of you who have been reading this from the beginning. Thank you for waiting.

That being said, to those of my readers who are not reviewing (And my traffic counter says that you're from far and near -- Qatar, Hong Kong, UAE, I see you!) please drop me a line, even if it is just a line, saying what you think of it. I see some of you are actually from the part of the world I'm talking about – care to share a few words with the class? To my burgeoning fanclub in Germany, a special shout-out. And to all of the rest of you, please feel free to make yourselves more than countries on a stats counter. I know you're not back here just to browse. :D


	29. Chapter 29

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Twenty-Nine – The Laughter of Children

* * *

The serenity Audemande had first credited to the harem quarters on her arrival seemed like a distant dream now. With Rayhana vengefully guarding every door and opportunity like a mythical dragon, Aude's world grew smaller and smaller. With Nasir there was at least the promise of the outside world, but on that point his sister maintained her original position: As was fitting and proper, no woman would be seen by a man who was not her family without a family member present or the necessary partitions between them.

But Nasir proved as clever as his sister was stubborn, and he promised (in a hastily written note passed to his lover with Khazuran's help) to change the situation as soon as an idea came to him. Until then, however, Audemande was on her own as far as entertainment went. Books and studying could only get her so far, and soon Aude began to look for other sources of amusement. And one of them came from a small and unlikely source -- Rayhana's son Gibreel. Male children were allowed in harem until their formal training began at the age of eight and Gibreel, at seven, was young enough to remain with his mother but old enough to escape her watchful eyes to create his own mischief.

Aude did not regularly have contact with children in any of her official capacities -- as Court Poet for Baldwin, and in Tripolis, she had been an adult far removed from the comings and goings of children. All her acquaintances were either single or old enough that their children could no longer be considered such. The notion of how to deal with a person under the age when logic and reason were attained was lost on her, as foreign as writing poetic epics might be to a mother. The only child she'd really ever had dealings with since coming to the Holy Land was Little Baldwin, Sybilla's son, and even him she had scarcely seen. Mirrum, she remembered, had often played with the child, and she remembered, vaguely, that the former Princess had said the maid had some skill with the child. But Mirrum was in Tripolis, and Audemande was here, still wondering. _What my parents deprived me of when they sent me away_, Aude mused from across the courtyard where Gibreel was playing. _A fine mother I'll make, when I cannot approach my own children._

She was at the very fringes of the boy's game, and the only way to proceed, she reasoned, was the obvious -- move closer and attempt conversation. She crept closer to the level ground where Nasir's nephew had spread his not inconsiderable army of toy soldiers out and studied the field. It appeared the Templars were about to be routed by Saracen cavalry.

"You have a very nice collection of knights there, Gibreel," Aude ventured, picking up a forgotten foot soldier who had fallen on his side at the edges of the fray and righting him.

"My uncle got them for me," the boy said matter-of-factly. "Mama says that I am not to talk to you, because you are a bad woman."

"She does?" Aude asked. _I can't say I'm surprised_.

"But I do not believe her," Gibreel assured her, still moving his troops. "Uncle Nasir likes you, and if he doesn't think you're bad, then I don't think you're bad either. Where are you from?" he asked suddenly, raising his bright, open face to her inquisitively. "Your skin is very pale."

"I was born in France, far away from here."

"Then how did you get here? In al Qads?" Gibreel asked, using the Arabic name for Jerusalem. It meant the Holy Place, Aude remembered from a conversation she had had long ago with Tiberias.

"I came by boat to Joppa, and then by horse to here. It took a long time. I lived here for many years and then... then I left to go live with a friend in Tripolis, to the north."

"Why did you travel all that way?" Gibreel asked, the battle among his playthings apparently gone from his mind.

"My father was a knight, in the service of a great man, and when that great man wanted someone to send their daughter to be the servant to a powerful lady here in Palestine, my father agreed," Aude said, recalling a topic she hadn't thought about for a very long time.

"My father is dead," Gibreel said sadly, going back to his horses and knights.

"I have not seen my father in a long time," Aude said, remembering her own father, a dim outline of a man embedded in her memory, a name that had almost lost all its meaning. Armand of Vinceaux. _He might as well be dead for all I know of him now._ " But I remember he used to play with my brothers using knights almost just like the ones you have here," she said, picking up the nearest horse and rider. "Would you let me play with you?" she asked, holding out the horse. Gibreel considered the horse, and finally nodded.

"You will have to be the Knights at Kerak," he said, handing her several knights with the red crusader cross of the Templar order brushed conspicuously onto their surcoats.

"So you are acting out the battle of Kerak?" Aude asked, moving the Templars to their own area and, on a whim, grabbing a nearby box, evidently the usual resting place for the wooden army. She upended it and set the Templars atop it, a makeshift castle for the Christian knights to defend.

"It was a great victory for Saladin," Gibreel said. "My uncle was there and he routed the Christian knights under their leader, Balian."

"I know, I was there, too," Aude said, remembering the great ramparts of the South's greatest fortress where she had watched a princess watch a knight, and a king speak to his greatest enemy as though he were a respected friend. Gibreel looked up at her, clearly impressed.

"You were?" he asked, full of wonder and awe.

"I was," Aude assured him, moving another piece into position around her box-castle. "The Sultan's troops were here, outside the city, and Balian came this way," she pointed along the ground, moving another horseman, "with the Princess Sybilla."

"She was al-Khinzir's sister," Gibreel supplied. Aude nodded, not wanting to correct the little boy's identification of her king.

"Yes, she was. I was with her that day – we went into the fortress, just here, and then Balian fought with your Uncle Nasir," Aude explained, moving knights this way and that outside the make believe walls of her castle.

"Uncle spared his life," Gibreel inserted, proud that he could contribute something to this story. "Because that is what noble men do. That is what God commands of us."

"God is always merciful, yes," Aude acknowledged with a little smile, thankful that on that point both their religions agreed. "And then, after your uncle spared Balian's life, Saladin's whole army came over the hill to punish Reynald for his wicked deeds."

"Was he really wicked?" the little boy asked, studying the knights on top of the overturned box.

"I am afraid he was, very, very wicked," Aude said. "Even the King of the Franks thought so. But he could not punish Reynald until after the battle."

Suddenly it seemed as though a great cloud had passed over the battlefield, and Aude looked up, coming face to face not with a cloud but another human being. "What lies are you filling my son's ears with?" Rayhana asked imperiously, towering over her son's playthings, arms crossed defensively. "Come away, Gibreel, it is time for your lessons."

"No lies," Aude said simply, turning the box back over and beginning to put the toy soldiers back inside. "Only the story as I know it."

"You may have my brother taken in, but you will not take my son," the Saracen lady assured her viciously, her frown etched into her face as she steered Gibreel away from his playthings, the seven year old waving to Aude with a joyful smile, clearly having enjoyed their playtime together.

"You do very well with children, my lady," Khazuran remarked from the shadows of the courtyard. "I did not know that about you."

"I did not know myself until just now," Aude admitted, watching the child go. She looked up at her tutor to see the older woman had a slightly mischevious smile on her face, as though she were trying very hard to hide something she knew Audemande would enjoy immensely. "What have you brought me from Nasir this time, Khazuran?" Aude asked, rising to her feet in as lady-like a fashion as she could muster after having been sitting on the floor for a quarter of an hour. "Another clandestinely passed note?"

"You shall have to come and see for yourself, my lady," Khazuran said, slipping off down the corridor as quietly as she had come, chuckling to herself. Aude followed, a little confused at what could possibly have her tutor in such a fine mood.

The answer came quickly enough when Aude entered the room Nasir had ordered (despite the adamant wishes of his sister) set aside as her study and stocked with books taken from his own personal library. But the room had changed, for now, standing dividing the room in two, was a tall partition, constructed of a fine, thin gauzy material stretched over a frame. Someone was moving beyond it – a servant, perhaps?

"You have a fine way with my nephew, Lady Dove," a voice said from behind the screen.

Audemande nearly shrieked with delight, her mouth dropping open in a wide-mouthed expression of joy when she recognized Nasir's voice behind the partition. "I told you I would come to you as soon as I could contrive. I had to wait to find this wonderful cloth," he said, the obscured outline of his hand gesturing up to the screen between them. Aude dropped to her knees beside the screen, gently touching her hand to the cloth to feel its fine weave, thin enough to let her see the man on the other side, and feel his own hand pushing back on hers, slightly warm through the fabric. "See, it will satisfy both you and my sister."

"You are a wonderous man, Nasir," Aude admitted, unwilling to take her hand away from the curtain. "Heaven has blessed you with a glorious intellect I would not trade for the most handsome man in the world."

"Are you implying, my Lady Dove, that I am not handsome?" the Saracen general asked with mock surprise. "If that is the case, I take back every comment I ever made about your beauty, for you certainly do not need it with your own diamond-bright mind."

"Shall I tell you what the diamond bright mind has been working on in your absence?" Aude asked, settling into her desk and shuffling through her papers, all of which, it seemed, were in exactly the same place as when she had left yesterday. Nasir's servants certainly were talented when it came to details.

"I have been reading your translations myself and I must say, they are very good," Nasir commented. "Though, of course, the originals are quite stunning themselves," He added for good measure. Aude rolled her eyes.

"They were your manuscripts!"

"And the prose was very good," he reiterated, laughing a little. "But you have done very well by the originals. 'Thus with my quills I gave good news to the four quarters of the earth, and with the prodigies of my pen I expressed the marvels of memorable events; I filled the towers with stars and caskets with pearls. This joyful news spread far and wide, bringing perfume to Rayy and to the evening conversation at Samarkand; it was welcomed with enthusiasm and with its sweetness surpassed candied fruits and sugar.' One can see this was translated by a poet."

"And a translator can see they were written by a poet, too," Aude responded quickly. "Although I do have some questions for the author about certain points in his narrative. The mention of female knights among the Franks, for example, has little basis at all in actual events," she said with a slightly conniving smile, knowing full well why he had put the fictitious womanly warriors in the story: to make the Franks seem even more ungodly in comparison to the Muslims.

"I believe it had something to do with a young woman of my acquaintance, who I was told might make an excellent knight had her gender permitted her," the General said, clearly smiling on his side of the partition.

"Who told you that?" Aude demanded, outraged and amused at the same time that someone would say something so outlandish about her.

"Tiberias, as I recall," Nasir said indifferently with a shrug. Aude fumed, making a note to reprehend her guardian when she returned to Tripolis. "I think, as your teacher now, that it is time we move on to different territory in your translations, something a little different," Nasir said, changing the subject. A servant ventured behind his side of the screen and took from him another book, circumnavigating the screen to hand the volume to Audemande. The characters tooled on the heavy leather of the cover seemed familiar to Aude, but she could not read them – the words did not make sense. Opening the cover, however, the words inside did, returning to the Arabic Khazuran had labored to teach her. "It is the Shah-nameh, the great epic that tells the story of the Persian people, written by Ferdowsi some two hundred years ago."

"It does not seem so large," Aude observed, turning a few of the pages. "And there are illustrations here, too."

Nasir chuckled. "That is one of nine volumes," He added, and Aude quickly reconsidered her position on the relative length of the epic. "This happens to be the ninth."

"Why start at the end?" Aude asked curiously, considering the outline Nasir made against the curtained screen. "One should always start at the beginning."

"Ah, but we have not time for the beginning. There are stories nearer to the end I think you will appreciate much more. The reign of Khusrow Parviz, for example, is considered very instructive, given the present climate," Nasir hinted, though what he hinted at was lost on Aude, still trying to reconcile starting at the end – the very end – of an epic poem larger than the Bible.

"Do you think me ready for such a task?" Aude asked, turning finally from the book back to Nasir.

"I think you are ready for anything, my martially minded Little Dove," Nasir expressed, chuckling as he saw Aude's face color with indignation at being called 'martially minded.' "And besides, I will be sitting right here in case you should stumble upon a word you do not know. It is my translation from the Persian, so I am familiar with it."

In those next days Aude found her heaven – sitting side by side with Nasir accompanied only by a book and the promise of learning something new by the reading of it. It was a simple joy that filled her heart, but it was true joy, joy that she had not felt since…since Baldwin had died, almost a year ago now. While far away in some other corner of Saladin's citadel Remy negotiated the treaty that would allow Tiberias to keep his lands for the present moment, Aude negotiated wording and cadence with Nasir, trading in lover's pleasantries through the nearly magical gauze-screened partition. The rest of the world was an afterthought to them, a mere footnote on their writing. And the longer it continued, the more Aude began to love the wonderful dream she was living, the idea that she could, indeed, spend the rest of her life with this man who loved to make her laugh and seemingly lived to make her smile.

But of course, like all dreams, it had to end – The Sultan summoned Nasir away to the council chambers to help conclude negotiations, wrapping up and finalizing last minute nuances of legal prose, and Audemande was left alone again with the sulking, censorious Rayhana.

Nasir's sister had not improved her disposition towards Audemande much, but what little progress was there did speak at least to some small measure of tolerance. Aude had once or twice caught a rapid glimpse of a vague sort of smile on Rayhana's face when she saw her brother genuinely enjoying Aude's company, and if that was all she was going to give, the Little Dove was glad to take it. The Saracen lady had every legitimate reason to be angry with Aude, the poet reasoned to Khazuran one night as she dressed for bed. "She's been the only woman in his life for years, and I suppose I frighten her a little," Aude said with a shrug, letting the older woman brush out her hair. Khazuran snorted.

"Nothing frightens Rayhana, Aude, except that perhaps her brother will marry a Christian and she will have to live with you and your children for the rest of her life," the tutor said sagely. "And he will marry you, Audemande. Of that I am completely sure."

"I begin to wonder if that is wise," Aude said sadly, climbing into bed and straightening the bedclothes as Khazuran adjusted the lamp, extinguishing the flame and leaving the room in slowly adjusting darkness. "Nasir is noble enough that his marriage must be sanctioned by Saladin, and he has no reason to approve of such a thing. Latin Jerusalem is dead, and I am merely a relic, an invader."

"Strike such thoughts from your mind!" Khazuran ordered. "Love is never wise, and God enjoins us to love, not wisdom. Pass no judgements on the matter until the appointed time, and then we will consider the relative wisdom of such choices."

Aude awoke later than usual the next morning – Khazuran had been unusually quiet in rising for morning prayer, it seemed, and had taken great pains not to wake her mistress. Now she was nowhere to be found, so Aude selected her own dress, braided her hair in the manner she had once used in childhood when she had not had the luxury of servants to do it for her, and set to her work as unobtrusively as she had always done.

She was nearing the end of the Ferdowsi volume Nasir had lent to her and was wondering if she would have time to at least read in the original Arabic the other volumes when a conspicuously loud throat clearing from the doorway snagged her attention, creating a jagged tear in the silken flow of concentration she'd maintained all morning.

Rayhana's eternally disapproving face hovered in the doorway, waiting until Aude looked up from her copy-work to begin whatever new tirade it was she wanted to rain down on her guest's head.

"You are requested in the King's Garden. My lord brother wishes you to recite something for his entertainment at table for the midday meal," she said, in a more restrained voice than Aude was used to hearing her use. Aude was slowly getting used to the fact that this was a woman used to writing her own rules and doing things in her own fashion, without the influence of her brother to direct her.

"Thank you," Aude said, rising from her desk and removing the long apron she wore over her gown to keep the inkstains from ruining the rich fabric. "I will attend him directly."

"He bids you specifically recite the poem you copied for him these last few days," Rayhana added, turning on her heel and leaving, her good-will towards Aude for the day obviously spent.

---

I wasn't going to have it end on a cliffhanger, but adding the next bit made this chapter a tad long for my tastes.

I realize that there are ten dozen things wrong with having Gibreel have toy soldiers since it's my understanding that making images of God's creation is forbidden in very orthodox Muslim teaching. My excuse for this one is that he does say his uncle got them for him, and I always see Nasir as a very liberal leaning moderate when it comes to his faith. And I'm sure there's something historically inaccurate with that, too. The real Imad al Din, for example, was very, very orthodox in his beliefs.

Reviews feed the unemployed writer!


	30. Chapter 30

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Thirty: Permission

* * *

Aude followed the servant assigned to escort her, keeping her curiosity in check as she was led into a part of the harem she had never entered, winding through many corridors until Aude was quite sure they were on the other side of the citadel, where the male half of business was conducted, out of sight from the women of the Court.

The servant lead her into what was evidently an entertainer's booth, of sorts, a heavier screen walling off a sizable corner of the courtyard so that musicians, or poets, could perform unseen by their noble audience. The garden beyond was apparently empty, but soon there were footsteps outside, and the sound of men's voices, deep in conversations Aude only partially understood. Some of them, she gathered, were discussing the treaty with Tripolis.

"…young upstart pup who doesn't know his manners. At least Raymond would listen."

"A pity he didn't learn from his uncle. They say he is very ill, or he would attend himself."

"Allah have mercy on him, if that young man's his heir."

"Allah have mercy on us," the second man said before passing out of earshot. Aude smiled to herself. Yes, that was most certainly Remy they were talking about.

Suddenly there was a rustle behind Aude, and she turned quickly to see Khazuran easing herself into the entertainer's booth, a strange instrument in her arms wrapped in cloth.

"Where have you been?" Aude asked quietly, wondering if the men outside might be able to hear her. "I've been wondering where you've been all morning!"

"Forgive me, Aude, but I had urgent business," Khazuran said shortly, settling down and arranging her skirts so she could unwrap the instrument and tune its strings. Shaped like half of a great pear, with a neck protruding from one end, the flat surface was inlaid with beautiful tracery in an ivory colored wood, standing out against the honeyed grain of the instrument's body. Clearly this was a prince's instrument.

"And what is that?" Aude asked, watching Khazuran experimentally pluck the strings, adjusting the tone with the pegs protruding from the end of neck.

"It is called an oud. Once, long ago, when I was a little girl, it was determined I should learn to play an instrument, and this was the one chosen for me. I will accompany your recitation."

"I've never recited with music before!" Aude said, trying to keep her voice as low as possible so the men outside would not hear.

"You are the Little Dove of Jerusalem, Audemande, who roosts in royal palaces and sings for kings! You can do this as certainly as you can do anything else. Forget I am even here," Khazuran said, smiling.

"A traveler from a distant land  
came out of the desert to the king's right hand  
And set before the king a tale of woe  
Of troubles encountered long ago  
That same tale I will now begin-  
it pertains Khusrow and his bride Shirin," Aude improvised, pausing for breath while Khazuran gave a few artfully chosen notes on the oud.

"Khusrow Pariz was an ancient lord,  
a king of Persia and the Golden Horde.  
One day he rode to the royal wood  
and came upon a maiden, fair and good…"

Of all the tales told in Ferdowsi's Book of Kings, Khusrow and Shirin was one of the shorter ones, but that only meant the tale took the better part of an hour to tell in full, how Khusrow saw Shirin while hunting and fell in love, and then sent his huntsman Shapour into the woods to woo her, bidding him to nail his portrait to a tree so that when she came by, she instantly fell in love with his image. She refused to sleep with the King unless he married her, and so Khusrow, enchanted and befuddled with the idea that any woman would refuse him, went off to Constantinople and married the daughter of a Byzantine king, Maryam of the Silver Veil, before returning and finding Shirin once more. Finally he married her, and they were very happy until his death.

"When the distant traveler finished this  
the king wished on him unending bliss.  
For sharing such story with young and old  
the monarch gave the man a pen of gold  
That copies of the tale could then repeat  
and every word he wrote sound just as sweet.  
And thus my story ends – I wish for you  
great happiness and health in all you do," Aude finished, letting Khazuran add her cascade of music at the end and taking a much needed sip from a water goblet nearby from which she had been taking small sips for the whole performance.

No sound came from the other side of the screen, as if the audience were considering how to respond or weighing the consequences of such an action very, very carefully. They had finished their meal some time previously, and had been listening exclusively to her for the last ten minutes of the poem. Then, slowly, came the sound of two hands clapping slowly and deliberately, followed quickly by other hands joining in. When the sound ceased, an older man's voice said, clearly and distinctly, "Leave us."

There was a patter of shoes for a time, a mass of people leaving the courtyard garden, and then the older man spoke again.

"The men I choose for councilors," he said, almost as if reflecting on something. "And now I have heard your Singing Dove, Nasir."

"Indeed, my lord," Nasir said, choosing his own words carefully.

"Pray come out from behind your screen, Lady," the voice commanded. Aude looked around for Rayhana, wondering what bit of etiquette she was breaching now. Was it a test? Were they trying to see if she had learned anything in harem? But there was no one there to censure her. Khazuran, it seemed, was baldly urging her to obey, shoving the air with her hands as she could somehow move Aude likewise.

"It is all right, Audemande," Nasir encouraged. "You may come out."

"I have no veil, my lords," Aude warned.

"We permit you," the older man said. "It is not the custom of your people to appear before men veiled."

Aude considered that, standing up and composing herself, twitching her skirt back and brushing a few wayward strands of hair behind her ears. Then she stepped out from behind the screen, and realized who it was her audience had been.

Audemande had only seen Saladin once before, and then only from a long ways off – at the Castle of Kerak, the battle-that-could-have-been that cost Baldwin his life, she had seen him on the field below the battlements, conversing with her king. Everything she _knew _about him came from William, Baldwin, and Raymond. That he was strong, wise, cunning, and a brilliant military and political strategist had always been mentioned. But Aude had never been accustomed to thinking of the venerable man as old. Nearly sixty, she remembered, and still the leader of so much of the world. The sultan's face was drawn in sharp lines, with high cheek-bones in sharp relief against his skin. There were plenty of wrinkles in his expression, but not deep furrows. Everything about him suggested thinness, a life dedicated to simplicity and denial, uncomplicated by rich food or leisure time. Respectfully, Aude averted her eyes, suddenly feeling very exposed without a veil to hide her face. "My lord," she said, sinking low to the ground.

"So this is Nasir's Singing Dove," the Sultan remarked, looking over Audemande with a philosopher's piercing gaze, as if trying to see some flaw in the argument as to why she was here.

"Yes, my lord," Aude said, unsure what else she was permitted to say in this great man's presence.

"And Baldwin's Little Dove before that," Salah al-Din added, his gaze still piercing, still judging her ruthlessly.

"Yes, my lord," Aude repeated.

"Do you know who I am, Aude-the-Dove?" he asked calmly, his eyes never leaving her face.

"You are Salah-al-din, Sultan of Syria and Egypt, Defender of the Faith, Leader of the Armies of God, and my lord's king," Aude said simply.

"You taught her well, Nasir," the sultan said, smiling just a little.

"She came to me well taught, my lord; it was not all my doing," Nasir amended.

Saladin nodded, musing over all of this. "And you bring her before my court singing of Khusrow and Shirin. I think, Nasir, that you have something to tell me," he suggested.

"Perhaps, my lord," Nasir said ambiguously, shrugging his shoulders a little. Aude didn't quite know what to make of this exchange between the two men. Obviously one was leading and the other deferring to the leader, but she felt quite distinctly as though she were an art piece they were talking about, an object that they assumed could not answer. It was unnerving, being talked about in this way. Aude felt very small.

"Perhaps?" the Sultan laughed. "You were always a very bad liar, Nasir, even when you were a child, unless you had put it down on paper first. This is not a question of perhaps. This," he pointed one long thin finger at Aude, "is a question of permission." He paused, dropping his arm down and sitting up a little straighter. His very posture seemed kingly, even in his plain dark robes. Some men needed rich garments to make them look the part of kings – obviously the Sultan wasn't one of them. "You remember, I think, how the story of Khusrow Parviz ends. I know I do," the sultan said, a note of warning in his voice. Aude knew the ending of the story, and she knew, now, why it was Nasir was so specific that she recite it. Khusrow was a Persian king, a Muslim, and his beloved Shirin had been a Christian. The parallel was simple enough.

"I have no other wives, and no son to turn against me and steal my widow," Nasir said with a smile.

"Ah, yes, but your family will want you to take another wife. Like Shirin she will always be a polluted bowl, unworthy to hold your blood, a source of enmity in your house. She will never be good enough for them." He paused for a moment, collecting more thoughts. Then he turned to Audemande. "I knew your former master, insofar as a man can know his enemy. He was a just man, and given to good judgment among his men, and true to his God. And I knew a little of you, before you ensnared my general and came to my city. I knew you were not a woman as other women among your people are, that you were skilled with words, and gave men council and were judged to be immodest. But I do not always take the judgments of other men on their own. Sometimes I must judge for myself." He rose from his cushions, straightening his robes and turning to Nasir. "I find that now, in my old age, I grow tired of war and hate," he remarked offhandedly, with the air of one addressing the state of the weather. "If you wanted my consent, you have it," he said finally with an enigmatic smile, inclining his head a little towards Audemande in farewell. Aude sank into her deepest curtsey, her eyes lowered to the floor as he swept out of the room, djellebah billowing out behind him.

"You planned that on purpose," Aude accused once the king was out of earshot, rising from her curtsey to look at Nasir.

"Khazuran came to me very early this morning to tell me of your doubts, and now I have allayed them," Nasir said triumphantly, taking Aude's hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss it gently. The physical contact took Aude by surprise, and her breath left her own lips in a surprised sigh.

"You have the permission of a king now," Aude said, her voice a little lower in pitch than it normally was. "Will you come to me with hunting dogs and brocade tents to take me back to Isfahan and enthrone me in a palace?"

"Would you mind that so very much?" Nasir asked, smiling at her in his teasing manner. "Your poet's heart knows you would not. But I will not steal you away from anyone. I have one more permission to ask."

* * *

The journey back to Tripolis was a joyful one, as joyful as a week-long ride across the desert can be when the wind blows fiercely and the sand finds its way into your clothing and hair and the crescents under your nails. For the past six years Aude had lived in the world's holiest places and watched as the world – Jew, Christian, and Muslim – came to her city seeking their God. She had visited many of the same sites, but never as a pilgrim. Now she was making her own pilgrimage to beg a boon not from God, but from her protector. Words danced in her head as the desert stretched out on either side of their path, filling the void in her mind left by the shifting sands. Sometimes, at night when they made camp, Nasir would entertain the men as they sat around their fires, telling fantastic tales from the Shah-nameh, about kings and demons from the very furthest annals of history. One night he even told the tale of Scheherazade, his eyes sparkling in the firelight as he looked at Aude, making the Little Dove's heart restless with his gaze.

When they finally arrived at Tripolis, it was nightfall, the thin sliver of moon that remained in the sky casting a dim glow over the gently lapping waves at the edge of the sea – the city's gates were closed, opened by a watchman when they announced their business and the watchman determined that ten horsemen, their leader, and a lady with her servant were no real threat to the city. But the Castle of Tripolis was locked and barred, and no one, least of all a night watchman, would let them in.

"Tell my lord Raymond the Lady Audemande has come back from Jerusalem," Aude shouted up again, parleying now with yet another guard who didn't seem to know who she was. _Provincial fool_, Aude cursed to herself, craning her neck to try and make out some sort of face high up on the battlements, swathed in the light from the torch he carried.

"My lady, that's impossible," The guard shouted back.

"Impossible, you impertinent dog?" Aude snapped, letting the men behind her chuckle a little bit and whisper amongst themselves in Arabic. "Impossible to take him a message? Have you no feet to take it yourself, and no tongue with which to convey it?"

"No, my lady," The guard stammered. " It's just that… we've got orders…"

"Orders? Orders by whom? I dare you to ask any servant in that house to identify me! I am the Lady Audemande of Arcenet, and I demand to be admitted to my house!" Aude shouted, her voice causing her horse to shift underneath her uncomfortably.

"Aude, perhaps it would be better if we found an inn for the night," Nasir said quietly over her shoulder. "It would save us the trouble. You are tired, and need rest."

"I am not so poor a host that we will stay in an inn because the castle will not admit us," Aude said resolutely.

"A quick death to the man who stands in your way," Nasir said admiringly, backing his horse away. But there seemed to be some sort of progress on the battlement – the guard had stepped away from the wall, the circle of his torch leaving the crennelled wall and moving inward.

"Oy, you there! You! With the basket! Come up 'ere! No, I don't wanna hurt you…" Apparently he was calling down to the courtyard for a servant. Another figure joined him in the circle of the torch, shorter and slimmer, a young woman. The guard whispered something in the woman's ear.

"That is the Lady Audemande," she said quietly, and even from this far down, Aude strained to recognize Mirrum's voice. The guard's shoulders slumped, and he began shouting for the gate to open. Aude glanced triumphantly at Nasir and directed her horse inside the castle gate as it swung inwards, soldiers running to collect their horses as they dismounted.

"Mirrum," Aude said, catching the servant a little off-guard as she descended the steps from the battlement. "God will reward you for your good deed this night."

The little ghostly Saxon woman nodded, a very thin trace of a smile on her face. "Forgive me, lady, but I must go," she said, glancing towards the upper windows of the castle as if evil eyes were watching her, ready to smite her down if she did not complete her task.

"Mirrum, what is the matter here?" Audemande asked. "Why could Tiberias not be called?"

"The Count is…my lord is…not doing well." Mirrum said quietly, averting her gaze down to the floor. Aude's heart fell, and she ordered the maidservant to direct her to the Count's bedchamber, wondering what she would find there.

* * *

The count's haggard face brightened when Aude came into his sickroom, and he just barely lifted his arms off the bedsheet, beckoning her in for an embrace. "Daughter I never had, come here and give your father a kiss," Raymond commanded, his voice unusually soft. Where had the tireless voice that commanded armies and silenced the Haut Cour gone? As she leaned over the bed to take him in her arms, she could hear his breathing in her ear, rough and ragged. "I thought you had left me for good," he accused quietly into their embrace.

"You won't get rid of me that easily, Tiberias," Aude shot back.

"I'm not going to let you leave my sight again," the Count decreed. "Sit here and keep an old man…" He stopped mid sentence, coughing viciously. "Keep an old man company," he finished. "This pleurisy doesn't leave much time for… entertainment. Perhaps you can tell me one of your stories… while we wait." He looked around Aude's shoulder, catching a glimpse of Nasir at the edge of the room, holding back from what was obviously a very personal scene. "You brought a friend," He observed, smiling a little bit more. "Or something more than a friend, I think."

"Oh, Tiberias," the Arab general said, moving to Aude's side and clasping Raymond's hand in a gesture of friendship.

"Never mind the story," Raymond amended, gazing up at Nasir and Aude. "We'll take care of this business – " he gestured feebly with his hand, pointing between the two poets, "--now."

"Business?" Aude asked softly.

"It's why you're here, isn't it?" Raymond asked. "Someone help me up," He asked, fumbling with the bedclothes and struggling to sit up straighter, propping his back against the carved head-board. Aude's heart broke as she saw how much weight he had lost. _I can count my bones, so depleted am I_, she thought to herself, quoting the Psalm. "Lord Nasir Imad al Din Aluh al Kitab al Isfahani," he coughed after finishing the name, "I give you permission to marry Audemande of Vinceaux and Jerusalem, Lady of Arcenet, who could have been my daughter."

"I thank you for your permission, my lord. It is an honor to be given such a lady." Nasir said, bowing his head reverently.

"Among her people it is customary to pay the husband for the service of taking a daughter away from her ancestral home," Raymond continued, pausing for a moment to cough again. "I give as her dowry some four thousand gold bezants, to be given to you…this night…while I can still settle my own affairs."

Aude unconsciously clenched her hand around Tiberias' fingers, knowing that if he was taking his death so seriously she should be as well. _What becomes of Jerusalem that once was now that Tiberias will leave us soon? Is it all now just dust and history? Soon none will live who remember it. _

"And among my people it is customary to pay the family for the privilege of taking their daughter away. What price do you ask for your daughter, Lord Raymond?" Nasir asked, his hand heavy on Aude's shoulder.

"Give her…the castle of Tiberias, in Galilee, for her own possession and keeping," Raymond said, his voice hoarse. "It was my wife's family's holding, and is now among your lord's lands, and I can neither give…nor take it back. Is this amenable? I know…I know she is worth more," He said, smiling for a moment before another coughing fit began, "But I find myself a very… poor man, here at the end of it all."

It was at this moment that Eschiva, venerable and mannerly lady that she usually was, chose to open the door in horror; evidently she'd been listening behind it for a little time, trying to find a good place to interrupt, and found the conversation rather not to her liking.

"Raymond, why are you doing this? There are other ways. Other men she could marry, and be safe with. This does not bode well for her, for any of us," the Princess of Galilee gasped wildly, trying to reason with her husband, ignoring Aude's shame-filled face and Nasir's politely offended visage behind hers.

"Woman, this is none of your concern!" Raymond managed before starting another coughing fit.

"She cannot marry him, Raymond! She cannot!"

"Why?" Tiberias roared, using all the depleted power of his hoarse voice to do so. "Why should she not? He is an honorable man! Far more honorable than some that you would… foist on her!"

"He is a Muslim, Raymond!" Eschiva hissed, her eyes darting to Nasir's turbaned head and dusky skin.

"That does not make him a lesser man!" Tiberias rasped, coughing violently, his body racking against the pillows as he struggled to sit up again to argue with his wife.

"They took my home, Raymond! They tried to kill my children! They tried to kill you! And you want her to marry among them!" But Raymond would say nothing to her, his mind decided."Audemande, think of what you're doing!" Eschiva pled, turning to her husband's ward. "You realize if you marry this man you can never come back. You will never be welcomed in the house of a Christian again!" It was a desperate ploy, but it was the last one the lady of the house could summon. Her adversaries were stalwarts.

"What would you give up for love, Eschiva? For your children? For Raymond?" the Little Dove asked desperately. "I no longer have friends to welcome me here!"

The Princess of Galilee's shoulders fell. "I would sacrifice that," she said sadly. For a while, neither spoke. Eschiva, looking away from Audemande as if it hurt her to meet the eyes of the poet, sighed, and pulled the younger woman away, towards the door, her voice hushed. "You may stay here until…" What little courage she had mustered to say "until Tiberias dies" fell away from her voice, and the sentence was left unfinished, the only conclusion this story could have. Audemande nodded, glancing over at Tiberias, gazing at them blearily from his bed.

"I will see the steward about where we are to sleep. Stay here with your husband," she said, gently commanding where she knew she did not need to. Tiberias was Eschiva's second husband, and though their marriage had produced no children, Aude knew that there was a great fondness between them. Eschiva nodded, silently walking back to Tiberias' bedside and clasping his hand. A small smile came to the Count's lips, and he nodded to Aude, letting her leave with Nasir.

"I should like to be them, someday," Aude remarked as they walked down the corridor.

"Old and dying?" Nasir said with the barest hint of humor, the only appropriate level for such a time.

"Old and still in love," Aude corrected fondly. Nasir nodded, walking down the corridor with her. He seemed to be reflecting on something, and then, almost timidly, put his hand inside Audemande's, holding it as they walked to find the Steward. Holding it, Aude realized, as Eschiva had been holding Tiberias' hand. It was the first time Aude had felt his hand this way, the strength of his fingers and the calloused planes of his palm. Tiberias had often told her one could learn much about a man from his hands, if they had known hard work or if they had the smooth skin of a courtier, whether a man earned his bread with a plow or with a lance. Nasir's hand was not dirty, but nor was it smooth – it was a hardworking hand. And amidst all of the suffering and grief she had seen this evening, it made her smile.

* * *

Almost done! Two more chapters, I think…and an epilogue. And the whole story is, at this very moment, sitting finished on my computer! You can all start cheering…NOW.

Notes on this chapter – the poetic introduction and ending Aude gives for Khusrow and Shirin was entirely my own invention. If you do get a chance, read the Shah-nameh – it's really an interesting collection of stories.

To everyone who's following this or has favorited it (and I do know who you are) THANK YOU! Please feel free to leave a review and tell me what you liked about it. Even if it's not in English! I'll find a way to translate it!


	31. Chapter 31

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Thirty One: Interlude

* * *

Sleep was scarce that night in the castle at Tripolis – Eschiva waited by her husband's bedside, and back in her old room, Audemande waited, awake, for the servant she knew would eventually come with news she dreaded hearing.

Tiberias did not see another dawn come over the eastern horizon – the pleurisy that had been slowly robbing his lungs of their ability to breathe finally stole his last breath, leaving the once proud Count Raymond as the dust from which he had been created, the dust to which all men, rich or poor, return.

He was buried in the chapel inside Tripolis Castle, alongside the rest of his family. Nasir did not attend the ceremony, wanting to remain unpolluted for his own prayers. In his coffin Raymond looked waxen, unreal, and Aude almost convinced herself (as she had done at many funerals) that the person being buried was not the man she knew at all, but rather someone who only looked like him, not the man that she had known, the great general and treasured friend. Somewhere, she hoped, a beautiful young man who no longer needed to wear the mask that had so encumbered him in life was greeting his longtime friend and making him welcome at a great heavenly banquet, or some such thing. Aude's promised dowry had been measured out from Raymond' s treasury, packed carefully away in chests, the camels needed to transport such treasure waiting in the stables. It was time to go. Nasir left with the caravan of Aude's dowry, going to prepare his family for their marriage, reluctantly kissing Audemande's hand, in the Frankish style, before he went.

But Audemande could not bring herself to leave Eschiva alone, in this strange castle that the Lady from Galilee was unused to, in a strange land she did not know. Soon, God willing, her children would arrive to help her, William and Hugh from Cyprus and Odo and Raoul from their own castles, further north. Her sons would be able to help her then. And Count Joscelin, too, was arriving soon from Antioch to assist with the division of Tripolis and the reading of the will. Someone, however, was missing.

Two days after they buried Tiberias, Remy returned, no longer Raymond Younger but simply Raymond, since there was no longer anyone with whom he had to share his name. Audemande watched him as he made his way with his attendants into the castle courtyard, looking more like a conquering hero than a grieving nephew. Eschiva received him alone, as was proper for a widow and a favored nephew, and showed Remy his uncle's grave. For all his posturing and shows of grief, Aude knew in her heart that he was not sad at this passing. Remy was too much of a schemer for real sorrow.

When Remy left his audience with Eschiva, bound, no doubt, to talk with his father, Aude was the first to pounce on him, in the empty corridor outside the lord and lady's private apartments.

"Why did you not return sooner?" She asked, taking the young lordling by surprise with her abrupt question.

"Aude!" Remy's usual expression of simpering acquiescence crept back into his face after the surprise had drained. "I came as soon as I was –"

"Liar!" Aude spat. "You came as soon as it was convenient, as soon as you knew nothing could be changed – after Raymond was dead! You probably knew before anyone in Jerusalem. The truth, now, or God will judge you for lying about a dead man."

Remy's good-natured look vanished, replaced by a snarl, the look of a threatened wolf. "I had a message a week before you left. I did not tell you of it."

"Why?" Aude pressed. She was no longer the Little Dove, but rather the Hawk, the royal bird who would as soon claw your eyes out as fly to your wrist in submission. She had nothing left to lose. She would know the truth from Remy.

Remy sneered. "What need had you to know such things? You were not his daughter, were not even kinfolk. Did you really think I'd allow you to return before me, and steal my patrimony?"

"Why not return yourself and spare the trouble of worrying?" Aude shot back. "He was dying! He needed someone here!"

"I was preserving his county!" Remy defended, his words acidic, divested of any former kindness he might have impersonated for Aude's sake. "I was making a name for myself, a name worthy of this land! So that when you write your precious little stories, both Raymonds will shine equally bright, both names to be remembered! "

It was Audemande's turn to sneer. _See how the mask falls down when there is no longer anyone to impress. Now we see his true colors. How much a lie that lordly visage of his was._ "When history remembers you, Remy, as you think it will, it will be only as the nephew of a great man, and never a great man yourself. He was good and gracious in all he did, and you were good and gracious to none. He remembered that, before the end – Tripolis goes to Bohemund. Now go home to Antioch and rot. "

It was the truth, but it was enough to provoke Remy. Incensed, eyes filled with rage that all his scheming, all his plans had been for naught, he seized Aude's shoulders, shoving her against the cold, rough stones of the hallway's wall. "And where do you go, Little Dove?" he asked mockingly. "Home to France, to Cyprus, perhaps, to serve your pitiful fallen king? Or back to Jerusalem, to be the Saracen's whore? That's all you ever were, and all you ever will be."

She'd had enough. "Better his whore than yours," Aude said scornfully, jutting her knee into Remy's groin and her hand into his side. The knight gasped in pain, dropping Aude and allowing her the chance to run as he collapsed to his knees.

Her feet had been inches from the floor, her shoulders aching where he was holding her against the wall. But Remy had forgotten she was not entirely defenseless – at her chatelaine, hanging on the chain of her belt, was her knife, the tiny blade she used for sharpening her pens. It was with that blade that she had stabbed him. It was not long, and would do no great harm – a mere scratch, easily mended. But the surprise of her knee and the blood the knife had caused Remy gave Aude the chance to run to the Count of Antioch, in charge of the castle for the present moment. He restrained his son when Remy came looking for Audemande, the castle physician drugging him into a deep stupor to fix his wound while Audemande journeyed back to Jerusalem. By the time Remy woke, the doctor promised, Aude would be safe in the city, and not even the headstrong and stupid young Antiochean would be foolish enough to try and attack her there. _And hopefully he will remember his lesson when he tries to woo another young woman,_ Aude said to herself with a self-satisfied smirk, Joyeuse swaying under her in an even, steady step. Finally she was leaving. She'd worn away the last of her welcome herself.

_Like a thief in the night I left my city, stole away from the stones that had given me birth,_ Aude thought to herself as her own company rode out along the trade road towards Jerusalem, composing a poem as Joyeuse plodded along.

_Farewell, my mother, whom I shall never see again!_

_See how your beautiful flower will grow in another man's garden. _

_Goodbye, my father, who always sheltered his dearest daughter._

_You have given my virtue to another man to guard._

_I go to the house of my husband, to the place of my marriage._

_I will be captive there, to the end of my days, in the best kind of prison._

_In the prison of the heart, which no man enters_

_Except my jailer._

_

* * *

  
_

I swear I have a good reason for the delay! My computer died and I almost lost all my files. So I apologize for the delay and promise that the last chapters will proceed without any more hiccups. And I apologize for the MarySueish chapter. But Aude really wanted to beat up Remy. And so, for that matter, did a lot of you...


	32. Chapter 32

Song of a Peacebringer, Chapter Thirty-Two: The Song of a Peacebringer

* * *

_ The last chapter...how sad..._

* * *

The relative silence of Jerusalem in the morning was a welcome noise to Audemande, the familiar smells drifting upwards on the breeze towards the window where she stood, listening to the muezzins and watching the sun come up, ever so slowly, illuminating the city with an early morning glow. She could hear Nasir praying in the next room -- the call to prayer and her husband (husband, the word sounded so strange) shuffling to rise from slumber to answer it had woken her.

Husband...yes, he truly was her husband now, and she, indeed, was his wife. The words had been spoken, the contracts signed, the days of feasting were over and done with. And now, the simple fact of blood on the bridal sheets told that entire story well enough. But telling that story was a bit like leaving Tripoli -- or like leaving Vinceaux for the first and last time all those many years ago. The parting was first painful, alien, uncomfortable, but slowly the pain became bearable, until it vanished completely, replaced with a empty space, the promise of new tomorrows, a void to fill with whatever she wished to fill it with. And a little bit of pleasure, when the thing was finished, when the city gates and the place where the journey had begun were far behind, and it was only herself and her husband left, bodies locked together, one person in two forms at once.

"You're cold," Nasir said from behind her, evidently done with his prayers and ablutions, draping another robe around her shoulders and wrapping himself around her after that, swathing her in silk robes and lover's embraces. _All the security I need now_, Aude thought to herself. _I could be in the middle of a besieged city like this and I would still feel as safe as if I was in the Heavenly Garden._

"Stay here and keep me warm then," she said with a flirtatious note. She could feel her husband's chest move against her back with his laughter.

"Sorceress," he accused. "I could not refuse you," he said, kissing the sensitive skin behind her ear, his beard rough with a night's untrimmed growth.

"Mmm..." Aude said, laying her hands atop his own at her waist and closing her eyes, breathing deeply and feeling her belly expand and contract against his hands. He smelled of rosewater from his washing.

"What were you thinking about before, beloved?" Nasir asked quietly.

"What becomes of us here?" Aude asked, opening her eyes and gazing out at the city again, beginning to come alive with the sunrise.

"What a philosopher I married!" Nasir remarked. "What becomes of any man. We live, we grow old, we die. If we do great things in that time, history may pause to remember us."

"What will we be remembered as, do you think? As great lovers? Khusrow and Shirin come again?" Aude proposed, wondering aloud.

"No...though we will have been so," her husband promised in a mischievous, promissory tone. Aude decided then and there she loved that tone. "History seldom stops to take such details down. I have written much of history -- nothing was ever exactly as I wrote it. You... you will be remembered as a great beauty -- which you were, of course," he added. Aude chuckled. "And I will be remembered as a poet, a historian, a leader of men. But our stories will never be told together exactly as they were. Among your people yours will be a tragic, cautionary tale, a beautiful maiden stolen away by a vicious Saracen lord to be his concubine. Captured in battle, perhaps -- a spoil of war until your death."

"Of grief, of course," she added. "When I was too young to die."

"Of course. And my people..." Nasir considered this closely. "To the Muslims you will be a wicked enchantress, who used her magic to ensnare me, and unman the great leader of armies. You will steal me away from my duties in stories, lead me astray...and then perhaps poison me in my sleep. Or stab me in the heart after I attempt to rebel; the authors are still deciding," he said with a smile. Aude gave him a playful jab in the ribs, smiling herself.

"Perhaps we should write our own story then, and save someone else the trouble of making up such fantastic tales."

"No one would bother to read it, if it were not fantastic in some way," Nasir reminded.

"I suppose that is true," Audemande conceded. "I, too, have written a little bit of history, and embellished upon the past for the sake of a good story."

Nasir broke his hold on her to move to her side, inquisitive. "I have never read your history, and I was certain I had read everything you wrote."

Audemande nodded, moving away from the window to one of her bridal chests, to the one where she knew, near the top, were her manuscript pages, nestled in a box with her library, an entire life packed from Jerusalem to Tripoli and back to Jerusalem again. "No, this one no one's heard, at least in its entirety. It was my gift to him – to Baldwin," Aude clarified. "He died before I could read it to him," she recalled, opening the box and lifting out the papers, curling with age, carrying them to her lord. "He never heard it, and I did not write again after it for some time. It was the battle of Montgisard, his great victory."

"Montgisard? That was no great victory, only great luck," Nasir said, sitting down in a chair near the table laden with wedding dinner left-overs and pouring himself a glass of honey-red juice.

"History is as you write it, my lord, or do you not remember?" Aude said with her own mischief, sitting down beside him with the manuscript in her lap. "Truth or no truth, it tells the story I always wanted to tell – of a warrior who did not wish for war."

Her husband conceded with the smile of a man who knows not to press his luck, bowing his head and gesturing with his glass for her to go on. "Read it to me," he said, a mischievous smile on his face, handing her the pages. "I want to hear it as you intended it to be heard. As Baldwin would have heard it."

"I do not know—" Aude began, but Nasir was firm – that look of his meant he would not brook refusal. She was beginning to love it and hate it at the same time.

"Shall I have to command you, wife? Read it," the Muslim lord entreated quietly into her ear, pushing the papers at her again, his eyes bright.

Audemande sighed, and sat up in her chair, composing herself and wiping a wayward tear from her eye. _I wrote it for a man I loved – I will read it for a man I love. This is the only way it could have been._

"And what is it called?" Nasir asked, leaning back in his own chair and making himself comfortable. "Surely it has a title – one must always begin there."

"You will laugh at it," Aude accused, watching him cautiously.

"I promise on my life – on my love for you! -- that I will not laugh," Nasir said, his face so openly earnest. _I could not refuse him anything with that face,_ Aude thought to herself. _What was it Tiberias said about my face? That no one could refuse my eyes? I am not so certain now that he was joking._

"The Song of a Peacebringer," Aude stated, almost apologetically, watching Nasir for his reaction. The Muslim lord, however, seemed pleased.

"It is a good name, and one he would have liked, I think," Nasir decided. "He was a peacebringer. He brought me peace, at least."

"He brought you and your men to a war!" Aude contradicted. Nasir shook his head, moving closer to his wife.

"Yes, but then the war brought you back to me," he said with a smile, kissing her cheek. Aude couldn't help but glance behind her to see if any of the servants were watching; the room was safe for now. "And you are my peace now. You are my wife, beloved. I have seen you without veils," Nasir said, stroking her cheek. Aude closed her eyes, inclining her head towards his hand. How long had it been before last night when someone had touched her like that, with the touch of someone who loved her dearly? She could not say. But she knew that she would never be without love again. "Your cage has been opened, Little Dove. Sing to your heart's content," he entreated.

"You have always uncaged me, beloved," she said, smiling down at him.

Nasir smiled benevolently and brushed a tear out of the corner of her eye. Whether it came from him or from the poem she could not tell him, but he brushed it away all the same. "Read," he said simply. And Aude, in a voice well used to telling stories, told the last tale of Baldwin the Fourth, the Song of a Peacebringer.

"Baldwin the fourth, the king of all Jerusalem,  
Has held his post for only these four years.  
He's just turned seventeen, still much a boy,  
And yet he rules as wisely as a Charlemange.

These past four years he's fully kept the peace

No small task for a simple boy like him.

But in his actions he is the perfect knight-

Strong and valiant, true to Christ's own heart.

He perseveres through anything, demanding,

All that he can of men and of himself.

He truly is a great and wondrous king.

In his fair palace, David's Citadel,

He governs with a patient, learned hand.

All around him wise men vie for place;

He gives in favor what men give in service.

Alas that someone tries to breach that peace,

The golden treaties brokered well with Egypt.

The sultan, Saladin, has given cause.

While at his court in Cairo he makes his plans

To attack the Christians in the sunny north.

At Ascalon he knows the king is weak,

His castles there are not so well defended.

"My lords," he says, "The Christians have offended us,

Have taken holy places from our hands.

It's come the time for us to bring them back…"

* * *

_I used to shun my companion_

_If his religion was not like mine;_

_But now my heart accepts every form._

_It is a pasture for gazelles, a monastery for monks,_

_A temple of idols, a Ka'ba for the pilgrim,_

_The tables of the Torah, the holy book of the Qu'ran._

_Love alone is my religion, and whichever way_

_Its horses turn, that is my faith and creed._

_-an anonymous author, translated by Bernard Lewis in Music of a Distant Drum_

* * *

_When I first started this story, last summer around this time, the original intent was to have Audemande write that poem, the Song of a Peacebringer, for Baldwin. It was to be a short story, and it was meant to give him the one thing I thought he lacked in Kingdom of Heaven -- a friend. However, when it came time for Aude to finish the poem, she refused. For some reason, she wanted Baldwin to die first without having heard it and to have another man heard the poem instead. I do not know why this was, but one hundred and sixty typed pages later, the story is finished and you, too, have heard the poem, as well as many others. She changed her mind about who that man was to be -- first it was a French knight nicknamed Coeur-Fer, Iron Heart, and then Nasir, the Poet-General. _

_I hope you have enjoyed this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and the part of me that is Audemande has enjoyed relating it to you. I have made some wonderful friends because of this story, and I thank you all for that experieince. Please stay tuned for a brief and hopefully amusing Epilogue related from another character's perspective in the coming days.  
_


	33. Epilogue

Song of a Peacebringer: Epilogue

* * *

Sybilla of Bois-Sur-Seine looked out from the table in her small cottage where she was kneading bread and surveyed the land around the house and adjoining smithy. Uncut, uncleared – pure, wooded wilderness. It was a change from seeing all the desert of her homeland. But this was her home now, France. Where her husband had grown up and where her children, God willing, would also grow up, she thought to herself, stroking her stomach, stretched wide and full like a melon. Another boy, hopefully. They'd name him Raymond, or John, perhaps. Agnes or Hodierna if it were a girl, after her mother or aunt. Or Audemande. Sybilla smiled.

Audemande…the name brought back memories. _Where did you fly off to, Little Dove? Are you still singing songs somewhere?_ Outside, her two sons, Baldwin and Godfrey, tussled with each other in the dirt, blonde and blue-eyed and beautiful. Just like Baldwin – both Baldwins, she reminded herself with a twinge. Neither boy showed signs of going the way of their uncle or half-brother, and for that, Sybilla daily thanked God.

"They say that Chainerault has a new mistress – a woman of the east that the Lord has brought back from the crusades. Perhaps we'll see her on market day," She remarked to Balian, who had taken a break from his forge to come and stand with her.

"Perhaps it would be better not," Balian advised. "There are some who would know your face. And after all, you've been considered dead these many years."

"But it would still be nice to go, and see them. Hear the voices once again," Sybilla said, pleading with her husband. "We must still go to market, Balian. What harm is there in going to see the Lady? They'll be hearing court, of course. Just this once, Balian. I do not ask for much."

"You ask for plenty, wife. We'll go," the blacksmith said, returning to his forge to continue making the tools that they'd sell while at the Chainerault fair.

The Chainerault fair was one of the biggest in the region, full of sights and sounds to amuse the boys. While Balian's back was turned setting up their stall, Sybilla ponderously bent over towards Baldwin and pressed a battered silver penny into his hand. "Find something for you and your brother, and don't lose him. I expect you back by lunch," Sybilla said. "Take care you use that well," she counseled, easing herself back up.

"Thank you, Mama!" Baldwin said, wrapping his arms around her burgeoning midsection. He took his brother Godfrey's hand and trotted off into the crowd, explaining in his wordly six year old voice the wonders and delights to be had for a penny to his not so worldly five year old brother. Sybilla smiled and prodding her aching back with a clenched fist.

"I've sent the boys off with a penny," Sybilla announced to her husband, helping him arrange some of the baskets at their stall. "Don't you give me that look," she warned Balian, who was frowning at her. "It was my money, and they deserved a little present."

"She cleans, she rules countries, she bakes pies and runs her own business off of my hungry customers," Balian said fondly. "What doesn't my wife do?"

"Mmm, work a forge and resist pain," Sybilla said, groaning. Balian stepped behind his wife, digging experienced thumbs into the small of her back. "Thank you," the former princess said, bending backwards a little and sighing. "I'm going for a walk – my menfolk need new shirts and I have no fabric."

"Nonsense, my shirt is fine. We're not so pretentious that people are going to see Balian's boys each have two and three shirts. People will talk," the blacksmith said practically.

"It will be cold this winter," Sybilla said. "Let other people talk through their chattering teeth while my boys are warm. I'll haggle down the price," she added for her husband's benefit – the next argument, she knew, would be that cloth was too expensive. "Those years with Guy taught me something of how to strike a bargain."

Balian sighed – she was a willful woman, whatever else she might have been. "You've left me something to eat for noontide?" he asked.

"In the basket," Sybilla said with a smile. Men – keep them fed, warm, and occupied, and a wife's job is never easier. She set off through the fair with her marketing basket over her arm, one hand wrapped protectively over her belly.

Cloth she could find easily – and besides, she knew that if she really wanted a bargain, she'd go towards the end of the day, when the weaver's guild was more willing to strike a deal so they didn't have to carry home so much. What she wanted was in Chaineraulte castle with the lord and lady.

There wasn't much room for the princess of Jerusalem inside the new Sybilla. She couldn't teach her boys the Greek and Arabic that had been so painstakingly drilled into her mind as a girl because the other women of the village would think she was a witch. Nor could she teach them Latin, for Latin was a learned man's tongue, and she was no man. She got up before the sun did, started her cooking fire and stoked the forge into life for Balian, and set to making breakfast for two growing boys. A far cry from the life of the lady of leisure she used to be.

But to see it all again – the bright colors of the lady's cloak, the lisp of educated Norman French, the stories! She'd be happy with a replenished store of memories to fashion stories from for a long while. Stories, Sybilla shook her head with a smile. _They're not even my stories that I tell my boys. They're Aude's. Oh, friend, if only you could see my sons. They'd love to hear you tell them tales like you used to tell Baldwin and me. _

The gate of Chaineraulte castle vaulted high over the packed dirt of the street below, giving an air of open space in a place that was filled with people cramming in to see the Lord and his Lady, back from the Crusade. Sybilla pushed through the crowds, using her extra weight and condition to gain some sympathy in getting to the front of the crowd, waiting for the Lord and Lady to appear.

A trumpet sounded somewhere in the bustle, and gradually, people quieted. The lord appeared, leading on his arm a woman perhaps Sybilla's age, or a little younger, with a gown of silver-blue, like fresh fish scales, and a veil of silver over her dark hair, which was bound over her ears in fillets of silver filigree. The women nearest Sybilla whispered amongst themselves that the lady looked like an angel, and Sybilla scoffed a little. _What they would have thought of me when I was princess_, she mused. _This is only a fraction as beautiful as what I once wore._

The lady's eyes had been downcast as she made her way to the seats on the dais where she and her husband would hear court, but as she sat down, Sybilla saw her face, and a chill went through her.

"Who shall we hear first, my love?" the lord asked, and the lady stood, searching the crowd. Sybilla gazed desperately at her, and when the lady's gaze passed her, it stopped, staring, surprised and, in a strange way, happy.

"A moment, please, husband," the lady said, coming down from the dais towards the people. "Lower your weapons," she said to the two men-at-arms in front of Sybilla, and the pikes uncrossed, letting Sybilla come closer to the lady.

"Well, what little bird has become trapped in here today?" the lady asked softly. "Are you lost, woman? What is your name?" the Lady asked, smiling. Sybilla smiled back.

"It was Sybilla, lady," she said bowing her head low, with the practice of a courtier.

"Sybilla," the Lady of Chainerault repeated, amused. "What a ponderous name. Is there something else you're called?"

"Friend," Sybilla said. And Audemande of Vinceaux, Lady-Dove of Jerusalem and Countess of the Three Castles, let her disguise go and laughed. "Sybilla," the woman repeated. "Sybilla…"

"Sybilla!"

The former princess turned away from the window, the beautiful vision gone, replaced only with the landscape that had started it, and looked behind her to the voice calling her name. It had only been a dream. _Like many things in my life nowadays,_ Sybilla mused. _It was too beautiful to have been true_. If only she knew what had happened to Audemande. She had left Jerusalem with Tiberias, before the siege had begun, and that was the last the former Princess had seen of the Little Dove. It made Sybilla sad – apart from her brother, Aude was the closest thing to a friend Sybilla had ever had.

Somone called her name again, and she turned to answer; The interrupting voice was her husband, calling to her from the doorway, the light from outside throwing him into shadow.

"I'm going up to the castle – the lord's favorite mount has slipped a shoe and he won't ride to collect his new wife on any other. Aluin needs the boys out of the smithy so they're not underfoot while he's working."

"Of course," Sybilla said, extracting her hands from the bread dough and setting it near the window so it could rise before she took it to the bakehouse. Yes, Chaineraulte was getting a new mistress, but it would not be the Little Dove of Jerusalem – the Lord of the manor had never even seen the outside of France, let alone the Holy City. Other men fought his wars. "Come along boys, inside!" she called, watching her sons scamper inside, ducking around her and her rather pregnant belly to continue their game, whatever it was.

"Why, Maman? We were having lots of fun outside!"

"Your father doesn't want you near the forge while he's up at the castle," Sybilla said matter of factly, making sure the breadbowl was far enough onto the table to prevent it from falling off should a wayward child knock it about.

"Why can't I go with Papa up to the castle?" Baldwin, the elder, wanted to know, looking up at his mother with large blue eyes.

"Because you're not old enough to help him yet," Sybilla explained, beginning to chop vegetables for the evening meal's stew.

"I carry his tools sometimes!" Baldwin complained.

"I don't wanna be a blacksmith when I grow'p," Godfrey said in his high little voice, slurring 'grow up' together in the way that was entirely his own. "I wanna be king, like in stories, Maman!"

Sybilla chuckled. _Ah, son, if only you had been born sooner, then perhaps you might have been. And what will your father say to that, I wonder?_ "I do not think they have much call for kings with blacksmiths for fathers, Godfrey. Perhaps you could be a sergeant at arms instead."

"But they never get any stories, and I wanna be inna story!" Godfrey whined.

"I want to be in a story too, Maman!" Baldwin said, changing his mind as mercurially as a only a child can. "Tell us a story, Maman! Pleeeease?" he said, smiling toothily at his mother. Sybilla sighed, drawing up a chair to the table so she could continue chopping sitting down; her back was beginning to bother again.

"A story? Which would you like, then?"

"A new one!" Baldwin declared brightly.

Sybilla smiled, nodding. "Oh, a new one…let me think about that." A new story? There was…no, but she had told that one already. Or perhaps…no, but they had heard that one too. Had she really told all of Audemande's already? She was not the storyteller, the Little Dove was. Every story her sons heard came from Aude's lips first. _Friend, what tale do you have left to tell?_

A merchant passing through the village with beautiful silks and Levantine cloth for the castle had stopped at the smithy the other day to have his carthorse re-shod. While waiting he'd shared with all the housewives (flocking as they did to a cart full of colors like they had never seen the likes of before in their entire lives) a fantastic tale about the Lady of the city where he had bought his wares. "Skin as white as the breast of a dove, people say! Though with those Muslims, one never knows. They veil all the womenfolk there, with heavy cloth so you can't see naught but their eyes. Devil eyes, they are, too, dark and full of hellfire. Wouldn't surprise me if there were monsters underneath 'stead of women," the merchant had said gravely. "But this lady was different. Used to be French before the Muslims captured her in battle and made her a slave. They say she could tell stories, and that's why the lord didn't kill her, because he liked her stories so much…"

"What was the Lord's name?" Sybilla had asked, before she could even help herself. The merchant looked at her like she had asked for the names of every devil in hell.

"How should I know? Nasty-ridden something or other. One of those foreign sounding things. Nothing a Christian could pronounce."

_I could,_ Sybilla had thought to herself. _Nasir Imad Al Din. I knew him once. Would it be so strange to imagine he loved Aude? They were both poets – they would have been good to each other._

"Mama?" little Baldwin asked, waiting for his story more patiently than his mother had ever seen him wait before. Sybilla smiled.

"I've thought of a new story, Baldwin. One you've never heard before. It takes place in a kingdom very, very far away, where there was a young king and his sister, a young princess. Since the king was young and weak, he married his sister to a great lord, who would give them help if they needed it defending their kingdom."

"Mama, we've heard this one 'fore," Baldwin observed. Sybilla shook her head.

"But this story is not about the king, or the princess, Baldwin, but about a young girl who came to serve the princess as her lady."

"Was she beau---beaut --- was she pretty?" Godfrey asked, sliding closer to his mother across the dirt floor.

"Yeah, did she have lots of treasure to help the king?" Baldwin added.

Sybilla looked across the room and tried to remember – a kind face, with dark eyes and dark hair… but the details were escaping her now, as if Aude were dead, a buried relative under a stone tablet waiting to be forgotten. "No, Baldwin, she was very poor. But she had a beautiful soul, and she had something that gold would never buy -- a talent for telling stories. This pleased the princess very much, for her brother the king had trouble sleeping, and when the Lady would come and tell him stories, he would sleep easier." Yes, a simple story was the best, a little lie to hide the beasts of memory.

"Why did the king have trouble sleeping? Were there lots of storms where he lived?" Baldwin asked. He had trouble sleeping during thunderstorms, and he assumed everyone else did, too.

"No, Baldwin, no storms. The king had many, many problems, and one of them was that the kingdom next to his was trying to take his kingdom for its own. This gave him much grief, and night after night he would lie awake trying to think of a way to have peace. Finally one day, after many little battles between the king's knights and the other kingdom, the other kingdom's Emperor brought his armies to the walls of the king's castle, and began to put them under a great siege."

"What's cee-j, Maman?" Godfrey wondered.

"It's where no one goes out of a castle and no one goes in, stupid," Baldwin said, clearly not appreciating his brother's interruption of the story. "Papa told us."

"Baldwin, we don't call our brothers stupid," Sybilla admonished sternly. "Apologize, or I won't go on with the story."

Her elder son frowned, looked at his brother and mumbled "I'm sorry" before turning away, arms folded and shoulders bent up to his ears. Sybilla shook her head and went on – he'd calm down eventually. "Sometimes while the siege was going on, Godfrey, the emperor's men would stop firing their weapons at the castle and rest for a while, and during those times, the storyteller-lady would come out on the battlements and walk. One of those times when she was on the walls of the castle, the emperor's greatest general saw her and immediately he fell in love with her. Every day after that when they were taking their rest the general went to go see her, and soon she began to notice him. Sadly, the city was taken before the General could save her, and she was taken prisoner by the Emperor's soldiers. The general searched very long and very hard to find the woman he had fallen in love with, and finally he did, in the Emperor's harem."

"What's a harem, Maman?" Godfrey asked. For once, Baldwin didn't have an answer.

"It's a special house where all the women in one family live," Sybilla explained, rather simplistically. "This made the General very sad, for he could not take one of the Emperor's servants as his wife. So he went before the Emperor and said, 'Emperor, I have a sad story to tell. It is about a little bird I saw on the battlements of the castle we have taken. It was a beautiful bird, and I meant to take it as my own, but when we took the city I could no longer find it, and I assumed it had flown away.'

"The Emperor was saddened to hear this, for though he had many sons, he loved the General almost as his own, and he wanted to see him happy. "General, let me send out scouts throughout the people, that this bird may be found and brought to you," he decreed. "Emperor, many thanks, but alas, this cannot be done, for I have searched on my own, and I have found the bird, but now I cannot have her."

"'Why can you not?' the Emperor asked, for he was very confused by all of this. 'Emperor, the bird is in your bird gardens, and I cannot take it back to my own, since it has already enriched your collection.'

"At this, the Emperor smiled, and sent for the man in charge of his birds. 'Describe it to this man, and he will see that it is brought to you, for ever do I desire you to be happy, and satisfied with your rewards.' The General nodded, and whispered in the bird-master's ear, sending him not to find a bird, but to find the lady he had loved on the battlements.

When the Lady-Storyteller was brought before them instead of a bird, the Emperor smiled, for often the General had spoken in camp about a lady he loved, and the Emperor could see that this was the woman. He gave her to the General to be his bride, and both of them were very happy after that."

"Did the war stop after that?" Godfrey asked, his five-year old mind not really comprehending the notion of sieges and wars. Sybilla nodded, thinking it simpler to leave those concepts unexplained. What need had little Godfrey the son of the blacksmith have to understand that?

"Did they bring peace when they got married, like in that one story you tell us?" Baldwin asked, his minor tantrum charmed out of him by the story.

Sybilla paused for a moment, considering this as she looked around her house and listened outside to the hustle and bustle of a village that had not seen war in fifty or so years. "Did she bring peace? Yes," she decided, smiling and stroking her son's hair. "Yes, she did. And they lived happily ever after, until the end of their days."

* * *

Ah, double meaning in my title. I love it when I do something clever like that.

The Epilogue was written for the original ending and I liked some parts of it too much to change it, so I worked the first version into the second version as a dream of Sybilla's. I know that must have been confusing, and I apologize. But you got a taste of how the story was originally supposed to end. If I'm feeling puckish I'll post the alternate ending on my fictionpress or something.

Oh, and fun story – I was at my local library looking for music from the renaissance and found something very interesting – an album titled "The Saracen and the Dove" by a group called the Orlando Consort. Well, I had to check it out with that title on the front. The title, apparently, comes from the symbols of the rival Italian cities of Padua and Pavia in the 14th century. The music is only so-so, but I thought it was worth mentioning.

Well, friends, we've reached the end. It's been a fun trip, and here we are looking back and wondering where all the time went. Who knows where we will meet again next? A very large special thanks to everyone who repeatedly came back and reviewed even when the chapters weren't very long and the story wasn't going anywhere.

Here's the famous Works Consulted list. I wish you joy of it. Know that I enjoyed reading every single one of the books on this list and I'd recommend them to anyone looking for a good book. I cannot, however, vouch for the level of scholarship in any of them.

* * *

Works Consulted

"Food in Medieval Times" Melitta Weiss Adamson, Greenwood Press, Westwood, CT

"Warriors of God: Richard the Lionheart and Saladin during the Third Crusade" James Reston, Jr, Anchor Books, NY

Wikipedia pages on Raymond of Tiberias, Baldwin IV, Sybilla of Jerusalem, Guy of Lusiginan, Bertrand De Born, the Battle of Montgisard, Saladin, Imad Al Dinh, Reynald of Chatillion, Stephanie of Milly, Isabella of Jerusalem, William of Tyre, Richard the Lionheart, Berengaria of Navarre, The Metamorphoses (Latin Wikisource page also) .

The Song of Roland, trans. Robert Harrison.

The Rule of Benedict, translated and edited by Timothy Fry, O.S.B, Collegeville.

"Women, Crusading, and the Holy Land in Historical Narrative," Natasha R. Hodgson, Boydell Press, UK

"The Leper King and his Heirs," Bernard Hamilton, Cambridge University Press, UK

Kingdom of Heaven, dir. Ridley Scott, 2005

"Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish, and Hebrew Poems" Bernard Lewis, Princeton, 2001

"Women in Islam" Wiebke Walther, Markus Weiner Press, 1993

"Night and Horses and the Desert: An Anthology of Classical Arabic Literature" Ed. Robert Irwin

"Nine Parts of Desire" Geraldine Brooks.

"Arabic Script" Gabriel Mandel Khan. Rosanna M. Giammanco Frongia, trans.

"Medieval Cuisine of the Islamic World: A concise history with 174 Recipes" Lilia Zaouali

"Arab Historians of the Crusades," Francesco Gabrieli, University of California Press, 1957

"Shah-nameh" by Abolqasem Ferdowsi, trans. Dick Davis

Special thanks to The Dante Troubadours, Les Jongeleurs de Mandragore, Andrew Lawrence-King, and Harry Gregson-Williams for providing the musical backdrop to which this was written.


End file.
